


Da Capo

by mistysinkat, sallyamongpoison



Series: Da Capo: The Full Score [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arrest, Blood, Drug Use, Drugs, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Jail, M/M, Mention of Death, Needles, Nightmares, Panic, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Use, Rehab, Withdrawal, almost kind of hallucination, mention of anxiety, mention of past gay conversion therapy, mention of past marriage, mention of violence, obvious allusion to heroin is obvious, trading certain types of favors for drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 265,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistysinkat/pseuds/mistysinkat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Da Capo: repeat from the beginning. In which they begin again, once more with different feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Platform Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian is taken with a handsome musician on the train platform.

  
  


The first time Dorian saw him had been as he was leaving work a bit later than usual. The train platform was still crowded, though not the usual crush at five-thirty like he was used to, which usually meant the rounds of people with fliers and pamphlets and…performers. Typically it was some long-haired Uni student with an acoustic guitar that could only string three chords together and shriek some unrecognizable words like a pop star wannabe. They’d have their little signs, and Dorian would throw what change he had at them, but none of them were ever any good. Not until…well, he hadn’t thought too much about him when saw him the first time. **  
**

He was all curly hair and scruff, the typical busker fare, and Dorian rolled his eyes when he set up his little stool with his open guitar case. Another one that was going to play too loudly for him to hear his own music, and he’d have to avoid eye contact. Dressed as he was, with his suit and nice watch, Dorian knew people knew he had money. He had to. He had to dress the part for work every day, but that typically meant he got bombarded by those people selling something or playing something. It was exhausting. This one was different, though. He was older, Dorian could tell by the slight lines around his eyes and the look he wore. This wasn’t someone who wanted to be ‘discovered.’ It was someone trying to make some extra cash.

Then he’d started to play. To say Dorian had been surprised to hear something so divine come out of someone who looked like  _that_  was an understatement. Under all that scruff and unruly blond curls was a rich and gravelly voice that massaged Dorian’s insides in all the right ways. he quite liked that kind of thing, anyway, and it was rare to see as much on the train platform after work. He’d let his gaze wander from where he was pretending to check his phone, and he looked over this singer. Tatty jeans, boots, slightly ill-fitting collared shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow for ease of movement were the hallmarks, but there was something different.

He was  _hot_.

So he’d put some money in the case, probably more than he should have, but Dorian couldn’t help it. He also just happened to miss his train in favor of the next one just so he could listen for a while longer. Something about that voice, how deep and almost haunted it sounded, was so different to the upbeat shit that many others tried. The man looked tired, like the weight of the song or the world was on top of him, and Dorian took care to just watch. Watching was easy. Watching let him take in how strong those arms looks and how the pick was slipped between scarred lips while he tuned or readjusted. It made Dorian feel a bit warm and lonely in a way he hadn’t in a while.

That night, the first time he’d seen him, Dorian went home and lay in bed with headphones clamped over his ears so he could listen to every melancholy, deep voiced piece of music he had. It was like he was in a trance that was set off by eyes the color of warm honey and a voice that seemed to wrap around his very soul. The whole thing made him feel like he was bewitched, almost, like he couldn’t stop thinking about it, and by the time he managed to sleep he couldn’t quite stop thinking about that man on the platform.

It was a big city, however, and upon waking Dorian realized he probably wouldn’t see him again. Shame, that. Ah well, let him feature in whatever fantasies Dorian had need of. He was handsome enough, after all. It had been a sobering experience to have something that wasn’t just the usual bustle of his days. Dorian rarely felt like his entire world had been flipped, and for a few short hours it had been. Maybe he needed it.

Then he saw him again. And again. It seemed he liked that train platform. Dorian always seemed to catch him there, perhaps for the fact that he started leaving work later than usual, and he watched and listened while he stood and pretended like he wasn’t. Every time, he’d stop and toss a few bills into the open guitar case and every time the man would nod at him so those unruly blond curls fell across his face. He was so unlike anyone Dorian had ever been attracted to, especially with the guitar and scruff and that hair that looked like a lion’s mane. Still, he found that he found himself standing close, listening to the songs, and noting when there was one he hadn’t heard. It was a quiet kind of coexistence that culminated in a shared smile and nod of the head. Mutual appreciation.

And then came the winter. Dorian had never done well in the winter. He hated snow and slush that covered the hem of his slacks, wind that threatened to freeze his facial hair and the tips of his fingers, and short days that were more dark than light for hours. It seemed like he was always shivering. No matter how many layers of shirts and jumpers and coats and scarves he wore he was always cold. Always. His blood was entirely too thin. He wore as elegant of clothing as he could, figure set off by trim lines and good tailoring despite the bulk, but it never felt like enough.

Wind whipped through the underground platform. In the summer it was disgustingly hot, but it was miserable in the winter. Cold and fuel fumes were enough to set Dorian’s teeth on edge. He often grabbed a cup of something piping hot from one of the coffee bars upstairs in the station proper, if only to have something hold, and he frowned as he made his way down the stairs to see the crush of people and the ever-present man with his guitar in the frozen breezeway. He seemed to have only one jacket, if it could even be called that, in the shape of a worn and thin looking maroon hoodie. That certainly couldn’t do very well in this weather. Still, he played on as he did every day at this time.

Dorian made his way closer, grey eyes trained on how his pale hands looked almost blue. No gloves, not that they would be useful for playing guitar, would have been a miserable experience. How could someone sit there for however long with no coat or gloves or scarf and not die of frostbite? Insanity. He gripped a bit more tightly to the piping hot cup and took a breath before starting a more confident gait toward his usual spot just a ways off from the singer. After as many weeks as it had been now, those simple smiles had almost turned to ones of expectation and delight when they saw each other. It was, sadly enough, the most stable relationship Dorian had ever had.

He dropped the change that he’d taken for the coffee into the man’s case and frowned when he noticed he wasn’t singing today. Playing with slightly shaking hands, he noted for how a few strums of the guitar sounded slightly off for how well he knew them now, but not singing. Maybe…maybe now was a good time to-

“Thanks,” the man offered, and Dorian frowned when he noted that voice was soft and scratchy and thick. Ah yes. That would be the weather. Poor man. “You, uh…you give me something every day and I never thanked you.”

Dorian smiled a little then. Despite how deep the man’s singing voice was, his normal tones seemed softer. More shy. Then again, that could have been whatever was wrong with his throat. “Not having to listen to people complain while they stand is thanks enough,” he pointed out, “you know how it is.”

He nodded and slowed his playing so he could sit up and bit, “At least you give something, man,” and cleared his throat a little.

“You shouldn’t be out here without a coat, you know,” Dorian pointed out with a small tease, “it’d be a shame for you to lose some fingers to frostbite.” Maker help him, smooth as he had the capacity to be there was something about that earnest face that made his stomach do flips. No one Dorian knew was completely earnest, not even himself, but there was genuinely something about those warm honey colored eyes.

Another chuckle followed by the clearing of his throat, “I’ll keep that in mind,” he teased back as he folded his arms over the top of the guitar and looked upward so Dorian got the full view of his face. That scar that bisected his top lip only served to make them more attractive, as did the rough stubble across his cheeks and chin. Dorian had never been attracted to that type before, and hadn’t been since this man, but there was something about the mixture of that look with that voice. How was he supposed to ignore that?

“I’m Dorian,” he offered, and stretched out a hand warmed by the coffee cup, “I, um…quite like your stuff.”

“Cullen,” the man answered, then gestured to his face, “wouldn’t shake if I were you. Hate for you catch this shit.”

Right. Yes. Dorian’s hand clenched before he pulled it back, and he looked down at his still untouched cup of coffee in his hands. “Here,” he offered, then held out the cup, “I haven’t drank anything out of it. You could probably use it more.”

One of Cullen’s blond eyebrows rose. There were a few expressions that crossed his face that Dorian could recognize: confusion, guilt, embarrassment (that one was played up a bit by a soft pink filling in his cheeks) and then finally resignation. “Yeah…thanks,” he answered, and took the offered cup to wrap his hands around, “I don’t, uh…” Cullen paused and turned his head to the side as he coughed a few times and turned back, “I don’t normally do this, but…yeah, I think I could use it.”

Dorian nodded, “Yeah,” he agreed with a slightly awkward nod, “I hope it helps.” His heart had started to race a little and despite how cold it was he found himself sweating under all his layers. What the hell was this?

_\- Attention Passengers: the next train departing from Platform Three will arrive at approximately 5:49 -_

The telltale sound of grinding brakes and warning whistles filled the platform and Dorian looked down at Cullen. It was his. He could have stayed longer, maybe he should have, but he was exhausted and cold and realized he didn’t actually  _know_ this man despite having seen him every day for however long. “Um…I should…”

“Yeah, I know,” Cullen answered before he took a sip of the coffee Dorian had given him, “you usually take this one.”

So he’d noticed. Again, that made Dorian’s stomach do a bit of a flip. “Tomorrow, then?” he asked with a slightly more confident smile, “if you’re feeling better?”

“Even then.”

The whoosh of air as the train pulled up whirled past them, kicking up dirt and papers and trash against concrete walls. It made things loud, louder than even people talking, and Dorian winced. Cullen didn’t. There was an awkward wave, silent smile, and Dorian left. His heart was still pounding and he was sweating. He was…what was the word?

_Smitten._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful art was done by @mistysinkat, and the words done by @sallyamongpoison both on ao3 and on tumblr! Come say to us!


	2. Coffee and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen and Dorian meet for coffee outside their usual place, and Cullen feels very out of place.

  
  


The sound of stomping feet made Cullen stir. He never slept well to begin with, but the sound of heavy feet on the carpet made him shift a little on the futon he was sleeping on. It was bad enough to have to sleep in the front room, but it often seemed like his roommates didn’t care whether or not he was sleeping when they made their way to the kitchen in the morning before bloody sunrise. He grabbed the thin pillow and tried to press it over his head so he could drown out the sound of Maddox making…whatever the hell it was he was making. Coffee, maybe? Something loud and annoying. The man didn’t care if he annoyed Cullen.

It was the same old thing, every day. Both Maddox and Samson would get up, about forty-five minutes apart, and that was the start of the day. They worked construction now, which meant having to be up and traveling to get to the job site, and Cullen would essentially be awake. He’d be awake and feel like shit while he trekked his way across the city to try to find places to busk. If it wasn’t convenient to stay there, more or less, he would have been out of there. It wasn’t home . Home was…gone. Long gone.

So he played. He played when he was tired. He played when he was sick. He played when the rent was getting dangerously close to needing to be paid, and both Samson and Maddox spent their paychecks on the little blue vials that got them all into this Maker- damned mess. Cullen dragged his guitar, the case slung across his back, and played for whatever money he could get. It made for long days, both cold and hot, with not much to look forward to.

Well, he hadn’t had much to look forward to before. Now? The mustached man. Dorian, now, but the immaculately dressed professional with the caramel skin and perfectly styled coal black hair that always gave a little something and met Cullen with a smile. The first few times had been a fluke, probably, but then it became something of ritual. Then it became something that Cullen found he looked forward to whenever he walked to that particular train station and that particular platform.

They’d spoken. It had been awkward. Dorian had given him a cup of coffee that tasted more like milk and sugar than anything else, but Cullen had accepted it without too much hesitation. It was an act of kindness Cullen hadn’t come across in a long time. He’d tried not to think about it, let it go as a one-off thing, but he couldn’t quite. It made his stomach do odd flips whenever he looked at his watch and realized it was time to head to the station. Like a date. It wasn’t, but was. Kind of.

Then it became a… was ‘thing’ a good word to describe it? A thing. When Dorian would wander over, sometimes looking more bundled up than usual, he’d drop a few bills into Cullen’s guitar case with a smile, and they’d have a short chat. He never asked for more money or anything, he made sure of that, but they’d comment on the weather or if he’d written anything new to play. Sometimes the other man would bring down two cups of something hot on the days when the icy wind was too much. Those days made Cullen’s stomach clench, and he almost had to fight to drink for how it felt. It was… well, someone actually looking at him and being interested felt like it was in short supply. Even if it was some nebulous thing with someone he didn’t know and they had some awkward almost-professional relationship. It was nice.

_“Do you… I mean, would you, ever consider maybe grabbing some coffee? With me?”_

The question had come a couple of weeks after the cup of coffee incident. After they’d talked. Dorian had seemed a bit agitated, more than usual, and checking his phone what seemed like every three seconds. Cullen hadn’t wanted to interrupt. After all, Dorian looked like he did something probably pretty stressful or important (or both), and there was no way he could ask the man to focus on him in his worn jeans and hoodie and guitar. Maker, he would have rather liked the attention, but he couldn’t ask for it. So when Dorian offered, Cullen had been put so far on the back foot that he probably managed to be in the next county. He’d stammered, amber eyes wide, and finally mumbled something in the affirmative because fucking  _of course_  he’d consider it.

The day had been set. Apparently Dorian had to stay late at work, so he wouldn’t be taking the train at his usual time, and Cullen bit the bullet to take the afternoon off from busking. He’d done reasonably well, all things considered, so he could afford it this one time. Besides, if given the choice between a coffee with Dorian or going back to the flat to eat whatever sort of takeaway mess Maddox and Samson had cobbled together… the cafe was going to win every time.

It made him fuss, though. Dorian had rattled off the name of the place that was by his office in the trendier part of the city where all of the young business types tended to gather. Of course that’s where he’d be. Cullen knew the place, if only by sight during his long walks to get to his favorite busking spots, and he knew for a fact that showing up in his normal clothes was going to call attention to the fact that he didn’t belong. Not really. He didn’t have that easy coolness to make people think he was enough of a hipster to be there on purpose, nor did he have a suit nice enough to fake that he worked close by. So he’d tried: a button down that wasn’t threadbare with a t-shirt from his Uni days under it and probably the pair of jeans he wore the least because they’d gotten a bit tight in the last year or so. Cheap takeout had filled him out a bit, but they fit well enough. Hopefully.

The early morning wakeup had already set his teeth on edge. Neither Samson nor Maddox tended to listen to his complaints, considering he was taking up their living room at the moment, and it about drove him insane. Sleep was fleeting anyway, so to be woken up made his nerves rub up against his resolve until they were raw. As the day went on, despite the fact that he was looking forward it, Cullen got more and more fidgety. He couldn’t help it.

On the walk to the cafe alone he’d burnt through four smokes. It was bad for him, he knew that, but with the constant headache and the being tired and a bit nervous on top of it? He needed them. He needed his hands not to shake and his voice not to waver. This was the first kindness or… friendship, even, that anyone had shown him in a long time. He wasn’t going to fuck it up.

He waited on the sidewalk, cigarette still clamped between his fingers, and kept casting glances up and down the street. Cullen was early, because of course he was, that part of him hadn’t changed. So now he got to stand there and look like a bit of a fool with his curls blowing in the cold wind and people pushing past him while he did his best not to take up too much space. His fingers and toes were tingly for the cigarettes he’d had already, and the slight pit of nerves, and he found that he really just wanted Dorian to get there. No one was looking at him, Cullen knew that, but he couldn’t quite help but feel like he was being judged.

“Waiting long?”

That smooth, posh voice. Cullen blinked, blond eyelashes moving slowly as he turned to see Dorian standing there in all of his well tailored glory. He didn’t want to admit that he liked how just that bit of attention made a lot of that antsy feeling go away, but it was just how it was. Dorian looked so unlike any other man Cullen had really known, dressed head to toe in probably something expensive and luxurious, and had a confidence that Cullen had never really known. When they stood together it almost felt like a yin and yang thing, and he found himself smiling just a little more than usual.

“Five minutes, maybe?” Cullen answered with a shrug and quickly took one last pull off his cigarette before putting it out on the bottom of his boot. Just tossing it seemed uncouth.

He watched as Dorian’s nose wrinkled just the slightest bit before he gestured toward the door of the cafe, “Good to know I’m not the only one who likes being early,” Dorian commented, “fashionably late should be for parties only. Not…erm.”

_Dates?_  Was this a date? Surely not. Cullen didn’t even know the man.

“A text message isn’t an excuse to make somebody wait half an hour,” he agreed as he went to pull the door open for them both, “my roommates are like that. Makes me crazy.”

Relax. Just talk. Dorian was a nice guy, and Cullen sorely needed someone nice around. This wasn’t a job interview and it wasn’t like Dorian had actually asked him out on a date-date. Coffee. People got coffee all the time. Cullen had gone to get coffee with friends all the time before… before. He could do it again.

They sat at a small table away from the noise of the door. It wasn’t exactly private, but it was quieter and Cullen appreciated it. Dorian moved like a man with a purpose, like a man comfortable in his own skin, and when he smiled it was genuine. It reached his eyes. Cullen liked that, and he relaxed a little more the longer that he took to take it in. He’d learned a while ago to take his cues from someone else. It made things easier to read. They commented on the interior, chuckled at the fake flower stuffed into a small vase, and finally settled in with a menu.

“I hope you don’t mind me ordering food,” Dorian prompted, “I’ve got a bit of a late night tonight and this is probably the only food I’ll get before ten.”

Cullen shook his head, “Doesn’t bother me,” he answered, and licked at his lips as he cast his gaze back down to see if he could afford anything beyond a warm drink. It would have looked weird to just sit there and watch Dorian eat, after all. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to do dinner with Samson and Maddox. “You eat here often?”

One bronze, jewelry covered hand flipped a page in the menu before Dorian looked up and smiled a bit, “When I’ve got late nights,” he answered, “good as it is, it doesn’t do me very well to have the office smelling like takeaway.”

Office work. Of course. Cullen nodded then and looked down at the list of sandwiches. That would do. They weren’t exactly cheap, but today was his day off. He deserved something a bit special. “Probably not, no,” he agreed. The urge to fidget was hitting him. The hand not holding the menu lifted to rub at the back of his neck so he could press down on the constant knot that always seemed to sit just under his hairline. The headache wasn’t as bad today, not really, but forever constant.

“I hope I didn’t drag you away from anything too important,” the other man offered as he closed the menu and leaned on the table on his elbows, “I just…well, with the having to work late I’d have missed…your playing.” Was that a hitch Cullen detected? A slight waver in that confidence? Surely not. Why would a guy like  _Dorian_  have any kind of hesitation about anything?

“I decided to take the afternoon off,” he answered with a small smile, “been working hard for a while, and this was a good excuse.”

Dorian’s smile grew then. He could only hold that stormcloud grey gaze for a few seconds at a time before he had to look down. He couldn’t help it Knowing he was being studied was slightly awkward, and the weight of that look made him a bit self conscious. It was hard to be under scrutiny, even if it was by someone he agreed to be there with. There was a kindness in Dorian’s face, though, and that helped somewhat. It at least kept Cullen from being too concerned as to why someone like Dorian would want to ask someone like  _him_  for coffee. Other than pity, perhaps.

A waiter came by and took their orders, which was a nice distraction. It gave Cullen a minute to breathe and remember that there were other people in the world. Somehow that helped. The thought of it being just he and Dorian together made his heart beat faster in a way he wasn’t so comfortable with. So they’d ordered their coffee and sandwiches, and Cullen let himself be reminded of reality. Reality. Reality was good.

“Is it rude to ask you if the busking is… what you do?” Dorian asked softly as he folded his arms over the table and leaned on his elbows again so they were huddled in that little bit closer.

Cullen shook his head, “No,” he answered, then made a face, “I mean, yes that’s what I do. For now. But it’s not rude. I mean, I don’t mind. Not really.”

The other man nodded, “That’s a commitment,” Dorian offered, “but I suppose it helps that you’re good at it.”

“My rent appreciates it,” Cullen replied, and he smiled a little. This was fine. He could do this. “Having a decent skill to fall back on when you can’t find a job’s pretty useful,” he went on, “and, uh… I can meet some nice people.”

Another smile, “I think you’re the first person I’ve met anywhere near a train that didn’t annoy me more than anything.”

Cullen found himself smiling for that, “That’s a compliment, right?” he asked.

The other man nodded, and smiled up at the waiter as two giant mugs of coffee were placed before them both. They smelled sweet and milky, and for a moment Cullen felt  _normal_. This could have been any meeting with a friend. They could have walked there together, talking about work, and sat to have a chat like nothing had ever gone wrong. It made his heart beat faster again, some kind of hope rolling in his gut, and Cullen picked up his coffee mug to drink from it. It tasted like fall afternoons after a long day, laughing about meetings and kids and stupid policy. It tasted like normality. It tasted  _healthy_.

They talked. Dorian worked for an auction house as one of the art historians. He worked with clients to try to gauge if pieces they brought in were authentic. According to him, and that dazzling smile, he could tell a fake Blessed Age painting at twenty paces. Impressive. Handling all those priceless artifacts had to be a stressful job, though no one would know to look at the man. He was everything Cullen wasn’t: confident, put together, healthy, and more or less content. It was easy to start drawing comparisons, which only made that black hole in his stomach grow.

“What did you do… before?” Dorian asked easily. Their food had come, and he was tackling a steak sandwich that could have fed half of Par Vollen for how huge it was.

Cullen chewed thoughtfully. Talk always came back to this. Shame. His cheeks burnt. He wanted to get up and walk away. Dorian was nice, but the minute he knew, he wouldn’t be nearly so nice. No one ever was. They’d smile sympathetically, nod, and he’d never see them again. That was how it worked. It was how it always worked.

He swallowed, “I, uh… I was a teacher,” Cullen answered, “high school. Music.”

Dorian’s eyes widened, “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. You must have nerves of steel to handle a room full of teenagers with noisemakers.”

Maker, but Cullen missed it. “It got a bit hairy sometimes,” he agreed, “there was always one who never knew when to stop.”

“Kids, right?” Dorian chuckled, “I may have been that kid.”

Amber eyes softened. “What do you play?” Cullen asked. Solid ground. This was solid ground.

Dorian shook his head, “Played piano, at my mother’s prompting. I didn’t want any part of it, but she made me from six to thirteen.”

The man had good hands for piano. He had long fingers, thin and strong, and even covered in rings as they were, Cullen had a feeling that he would have done well. “Gave it up?” he asked.

“I was more the academic,” he answered, “mother wanted someone to show off at parties, and father wanted a scholar. He won, in the end. Maybe I should have picked the better side.”

The mental image of a tiny Dorian, sans mustache and expensive suit, sitting at a piano and practicing with a grimace on his face was a thought that made Cullen smile. He had his fair share of those. Dorian would have been a handful, that was for sure. “I can see that,” he laughed, and polished off the last of his coffee. It had been rich and thick with steamed milk, and for a moment Cullen forgot that he probably couldn’t afford another. Not without having to worry that he wouldn’t have enough should Samson and Maddox decide their money was better spent on something that wasn’t bills or food.

“Would you go back to it?” Dorian asked, “the teaching?”

Only in a heartbeat. “Yeah, I would,” Cullen bobbed his head in a nod, “it’s just… uh, hard. Right now.”

A concerned look. Cullen knew that look and knew the next question that was coming. He  _hated_  that question. A quick breath braced him, and he waited. It was coming. Cullen knew it was.

“Yeah, well… hard stuff happens,” Dorian commented, and grey eyes flicked back down to look at the table for a long moment, “hopefully things work out.”

No question. No ‘why’ or ‘what’ or anything. How in the Maker’s name had Dorian managed not ask anything else? Cullen frowned, waited for more, but nothing came. Truth be told, the look the other man wore seemed… not just sympathetic, not so much. It wasn’t the blank sort of expression that other people wore when they thought ‘at least it’s not me.’ This was something else. It was understanding. Empathy. Hard things. Bad things. Everyone had bad things, but not enough people had bad enough things not to pry. This was a novel experience.

“Thanks,” he replied, and looked down at his watch. It was getting later now. Their coffee was gone and a seemingly dark mood had passed over their table. He was losing this. Somehow. Cullen licked his lips then and took a breath. “Could I have your number?” he asked quickly, then let out a nervous laugh, “I mean… if that’s okay? It might, you know, just in case I’m ever not there. At the platform, I mean. We could…do this again?” If he hadn’t royally screwed up the chance for some kind of normality.  _Please, Maker, just this once._

A pause. Then a lift of that shadow. Dorian was smiling again. He held out a hand, “Give me your phone. I’ll put it in.”

A friend.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely art was done by @mistysinkat, and the words provided by @sallyamongpoison both on ao3 and on tumblr! Come check us out. We promise we don't bite! ...hard, anyway.


	3. [1] New Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Cullen chat, complete with misunderstanding and awkwardness.

It had been a long time since Cullen’s phone had lit up for any reason that wasn’t a prompt to refill his credit or Samson asking for his house keys. When they’d exchanged numbers Cullen had almost expected Dorian to behave the same way he’d behaved back when…well, back when he asked for someone’s number. The requisite three days to not seem clingy and then maybe a quick hello here and there. Awkward. It had always been awkward.  _He_  had always been awkward. Honestly, he was a bit worried what would happen when, or if, Dorian ever messaged him. **  
**

_[Dorian (9:37PM)]: So half a sleeve of cookies & a bottle of wine counts as dinner right?_

The first message came the following night. That was sooner than he expected and he actually stared at it for a long few moments trying to remember what it was like to actually have a conversation with someone that wasn’t Samson or Maddox. The message was so Dorian, too. Of course he wouldn’t open with a ‘hi how are you?’ or anything, but it was almost like they’d been talking for hours already.

_[Cullen (9:42PM)]: Sounds delicious. You should see what I’m having… (you should eat more than cookies)_  
_[Dorian (9:44PM)]: worked late cant be fucked to shop. its all i had. what r u having?_  
_[Cullen (9:45PM)]: Random leftovers. Cold leftovers._  
_[Cullen (9:45PM)]: They keep you busy, then?_  
_[Dorian (9:47PM)]: not over the sink i hope ;)_  
_[Cullen (9:49PM)]: The location isn’t important._  
_[Dorian (9:51PM)]: i had a conference call and didnt want to go home so i stayed late_

There was something rather endearing about the thought of them both scrounging for dinner. Stupid maybe, but it made Cullen feel a bit like he and Dorian were more on even ground. Dorian, with his smart suits and put together attitude, and Cullen with his threadbare shirts and jeans from three years ago that he could only mostly fit into. Dorian had some important job, important enough for a conference call, and Cullen played for change all over the city. They weren’t alike. They weren’t alike at all but they still sent messages about their bad eating habits.

_[Dorian (10:23PM)]: we could do it again when u can take another day off. ive been known to take long lunches sometimes_  
_[Cullen (10:24PM)]: Ah. That might be a while. My roommates aren’t great with money. Or anything._  
_[Cullen (10:25PM)]: But I would like that._  
_[Dorian (10:28PM)]: u said that before. they kinda sound like dicks. unless thats rude_  
_[Cullen (10:30PM)]: More accurate than rude._  
_[Cullen (10:30PM)]: It’s a whole thing._  
_[Dorian (10:32PM)]: bad internet roomie advert i take it?_  
_[Cullen (10:34PM)]: Something like that._  
_[Cullen (10:35PM)]: I’m stuck there for now._  
_[Dorian (10:38PM)]: u sound so mysterious when u say things like that. r u a viglante on the weekends?_  
_[Dorian (10:38PM)]: *vigilante_  
_[Cullen (10:44PM)]: And he cares about proper spelling!_  
_[Cullen (10:45PM)]: Also, no. Unless you count soothing souls of the drunken masses at a dive bar as some form of vigilante-ism (is that even a word?l_  
_[Dorian (10:47PM)]: u play out at places other than the train platform? lucky people_  
_[Cullen (10:52PM)]: Ah. Yeah. A few regular gigs._

Slowly they were getting to know each other. Very slowly. Cullen still felt a bit weird sharing anything beyond the superficial kind of thing, but he found that talking to Dorian was easier than he wanted to admit. The man was disarming with his smile and easy nature. He was funny. Lively. Dorian was like a cold shower during a humid summer. He was the heat of a fire in the coldest winter like a snap. Cullen felt like he woke from a fog when he and Dorian spoke. It was like that part of him from before was suddenly aware of his surroundings and didn’t like what it saw.

Cullen didn’t blame it.

_[Dorian 11:04PM)]: u have to tell me where sometime_  
_[Cullen 11:06PM)]: Not your scene, really_  
_[Dorian 11:10PM)]: i can write ‘marry me cullen’ on posterboard & throw underwear on stage_  
_[Cullen 11:14PM)]: Well now I’m definitely not telling you_  
_[Dorian 11:14PM)]: aww_  
_[Cullen 11:17PM)]: Sorry, sorry. I might die, though._  
_[Dorian: 11:18PM)]: no underwear then_  
_[Dorian 11:18PM)]: to throw_  
_[Dorian 11:19PM)]: ill probably wear some_  
_[Cullen 11:25PM)]: ….. probably?_  
_[Dorian 11:27PM)]: kidding_

The man was going to be the death of him. That much was probably for sure.

–

“Do you have to take a picture every time you eat something?”

Dorian grinned as he snapped a quick still of the lunch they’d just been served, then adjusted his sunglasses just a bit as he looked at the screen of his phone. It was a weirdly sunny day with dark clouds to the east so everything was windy and too bright with that humidity in the air that made Dorian’s hair fluff like anything. Still, he’d needed to get out of the office and Sera was the only one willing to possibly brave a downpour.

He sat back in his chair, nibbling on a chip, and sent the picture. Something about it made his chest feel a bit tight. When Cullen replied, as he often did rather fast unless he was dealing with something, Dorian smiled. “It’s not  _for_  me,” he teased back at the elf, who stuck her tongue out at him, “it’s an inside joke.”

Sera giggled for that as she picked up her drink with both hands, “Ooh, what’s this one like then?” she asked, “you must like him if you’re sending him snaps.”

“Pictures of a sandwich are hardly romantic,” he deadpanned before looking up to meet her eyes, “I mean, unless that’s what you and Dagna get up to in your free time. Not that I want to pry.”

“Arse,” Sera laughed, “no, but really. Who’s this one? You’re smiling like you’ve got a secret.”

_[Cullen (12:17PM)]: Any pets? Or is it just you and your cookies?_  
_[Dorian (12:20PM)]: i have a cactus_  
_[Dorian (12:21PM)]: thats all i can keep alive. long hours and all that_  
_[Cullen (12:22PM)]: Well that’s something._  
_[Dorian (12:22PM)]: u? or just the roommates_  
_[Cullen (12:23PM)]: Once upon a time I had a dog. It wouldn’t really work now._  
_[Dorian (12:24PM)]: apartment living, i assume, probably not the best_  
_[Cullen (12:24PM)]: No. Not at all. But I’m keeping you from your lunch._  
_[Dorian (12:25PM)]: nah_  
_[Dorian (12:25PM)]: its good to talk to someone not about Divine Age sculpture_  
_[Dorian (12:25PM)]: where r u playing now?_  
_[Cullen (12:27PM)]: Great, because i know fuck all about that._  
_[Cullen (12:27PM)]: I’m in between stops. On the train._  
_[Dorian (12:28PM)]: during the day on the train is better than at night at least_  
_[Cullen (12:30PM)]: Cramped. But I’m heading that way. One or two more stops before I park it at your station._

Dorian couldn’t help but feel just a bit excited for as much. It seemed these days he looked forward to the end of the work day more than he had before. Now it was more than just a drink and lying on the couch. It was… something else. It was amber eyes and a mop of curls that looked soft enough to touch. It was a voice that Dorian could feel down his spine and a shy smile that made his toes curl. Just those few minutes a day, now padded by a conversation that seemed to spread endlessly throughout the hours, made him fidget and jitter in ways no one had in a long time.

It was only when he looked up that he realized Sera was still talking and that she was looking at him looking down at his phone with a dopey smile on his face. He knew it was dopey because he could feel it, and Dorian just managed to rearrange his expression into something else as she snapped a picture of him. “Damn it!” Sera cackled, “that one was gonna be great!”

“It warms my heart to know my quiet moments are so hilarious.”

“It’s the first one I’ve seen you have in months,” she pointed out, “getting all smiley like that.”

Maker, it was true. Sera would know, too, since she was the one that Dorian so often went to about that kind of thing. He didn’t want to say too much now, especially considering that he’d only seen the man outside of their little daily ritual once. It wouldn’t be fair to start putting labels on things. Never mind that through most of that little coffee situation Cullen looked like a cat ready to bolt for the door. Dorian hadn’t said anything, hadn’t wanted to seem rude, but he’d noticed. The last thing he wanted was to make this weird for anyone.

He’d just…well, he’d used the word smitten. That was still true. He was smitten and he didn’t want to jeopardize that.

_[Dorian (12:33PM)]: do you get to have a lunch break that i get to keep u from?_  
_[Cullen (12:34PM)]: I don’t really keep regular hours._  
_[Cullen (12:34PM)]: I guess this is my “lunch break”?_  
_[Cullen (12:34PM)]: Forgot to bring the lunch, though._

A gentle kick under the table made Dorian lift his head and Sera gestured to her nearly empty plate, “Are you going to eat or just pine at your phone?” she asked, “because I’ll have those chips if you won’t.”

She was right. He was losing focus. Letting himself fall down that particular rabbit hole never did him any favors. Getting too attached from the word go was dangerous, and Dorian did genuinely like to put his heart firmly behind at least some protection. Cullen seemed nice, but he was still a  man. Men had hurt Dorian before, sweet and kindhearted though they seemed, and he wasn’t in the market for it to happen again. Not right at the moment, at least.

So he set the phone down and ate. Distance. Breathing space. Technology was good for making it feel like he had to answer all the time. He didn’t need to. Besides, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t see the other man later anyway. Eat. Go on as normal. Checking constantly only built expectations that Dorian wasn’t sure he wanted to have. Or that he wanted Cullen to have, if that were possible. The man looked almost too scared to look at him.

They ate, finishing just as thunder started to roll in. The weather was supposed to be awful for the next few days so Dorian had to be content with staying in over the weekend. That was easy.

–

Rain. Cullen didn’t really like rain. Rain put him in a mood that was hard to claw out of. Mostly he hated that his clothes were soaked and he was now shivering, but the whole vibe of the day just made him feel shitty. A shower. A shower was definite on the cards-

_[Dorian (2:57PM)]: Plz tell me you’re not out in this weather._

The man must be fucking psychic. Cullen sighed, rolled his eyes, and tried to rub his damp shirt over the screen so he could read it better. Sadly, it just seemed to smear even more. On some level he was kind of glad Dorian had sent something. On days like this he liked having something to laugh about. Dorian was good for that.

_[Cullen (3:01PM)]: I’m just getting in. It’s rough out here._  
_[Cullen (3:01PM)]: I take it you’re hiding from the weather at home?_  
_[Dorian (3:02PM)]: Under a blanket even. Perfect day for a book and a cup of coffee_  
_[Cullen (3:04PM)]: Coffee. I bet when you cut yourself shaving, you bleed coffee._

A shower. He needed a shower. Cullen peeled out of his wet t-shirt and jeans before stumbling under the hot water. He closed his eyes as he ducked his head under the spray and let the hot water run down over him so it might warm where his fingers had started to go a bit numb. He hated the feeling of wet clothes more than most things, and trudging around in them only served to let him know just how fucked up he’d let his life get. Cullen five years ago wouldn’t have walked the streets like that. Cullen five years ago wouldn’t have  _had_  to. Cullen five years ago didn’t use the shower as a means of escape and quiet from roommates who didn’t seem to give a shit. This was…ugh, it was terrible.

Sadly he couldn’t dawdle for too long. The apartment complex covered their water bill, which was something, but the water heater was probably older than he was. A cold shock right after finally getting warm would only make a grey and moody afternoon even worse. There was still enough time for him to relax, to sit around in comfortable clothes and maybe contemplate a nap or something, though the prospect of having to go outside again really didn’t appeal. Were it a casual Saturday out, he would have politely declined and taken up under his own blanket with some coffee. But that wasn’t going to happen.

_[Dorian (3:39PM)]: and what about u? how does cullen spend a rainy day?_  
_[Cullen (3:42PM)]: I try to write, if I can. Nothing like a good rainstorm to set the mood._  
_[Cullen (3:42PM)]: Music, you know. Not literature._  
_[Dorian (3:42PM)]: a moody lovesong with a thunder and lightning accompaniment? my favorite_  
_[Cullen (3:44PM)]: Why would you assume a lovesong?_  
_[Dorian (3:47PM)]: what else do you right when its raining?_  
_[Dorian (3:47PM)]: *write_  
_[Cullen (3:49PM)]: Things I know about, for one._  
_[Dorian (3:51PM)]]: like…?_  
_[Dorian (3:51PM)]: theres no one whos broke your heart that comes to mind when it rains? that poetic kind of thing?_

Cullen stared at that for a long few moments. What did he say to that? How did he say something that wasn’t probably a deal-breaker? In the early days of friendship, since that’s what this was, no one wanted to bare their soul for just a few well-placed words. It looked weak. It looked like Cullen had way too much baggage. Of course he  _did_ , but he at least wanted to come off like he didn’t. Everyone wanted to be the put together one, after all. Dorian always looked the part and it already occurred to Cullen that no matter how hard he tried he’d never be that cool. He never had been. So how did he play it off without it sounding awkward?

_[Cullen (4:03PM)]: So. Weather. Bad. Right?_  
_[Dorian (4:03PM)]: and not our love lives?_  
_[Dorian (4:04PM)]: probably for the best :p_  
_[Cullen (4:05PM)]: I just can’t imagine that it’s interesting._  
_[Cullen (4:05PM)]: But yours might be._  
_[Dorian (4:06PM)]: hardly_  
_[Dorian (4:06PM)]: fumble around for a year or two get attached then suddenly everyone has to grow up and get married_  
_[Cullen (4:07PM)]t: Never been married, then?_  
_[Dorian (4:07PM)]: marriage isnt my bag_  
_[Cullen (4:10PM)]: No, it’s not for everyone._  
_[Dorian (4:14PM)]: especially when its forced on you_  
_[Cullen (4:15PM)]: Oh. Wow. I’m sorry._

He was stretched out on the futon with a pillow pressed over his face. This couldn’t actually get any worse. How many more ways was he going to say something stupid? True, it had been a long time since Cullen had gotten to know someone beyond maybe a smile and quick hello. He’d always been a bit shy and awkward, but he used to have something  _else_. The years had taken a lot from him, chiefly among them his ability to feel people out and feel confident. Even if he could find a job he probably couldn’t get up in front of a room of kids again. They’d eat him alive like this. Now Dorian, the man who had been so kind, was probably rolling his eyes and wondering just how to get away from the superbly awkward asshole without being impolite.

_Get a grip. Just get a grip._

It was hard to listen to his own advice. He’d been ignoring it for a long time, though obviously it had done him a  _wealth_  of good, and even now the thought sounded hollow in his own head. Cullen needed a grip, though. He’d needed a grip for a long time and this was probably the first time he felt like he actually had one.

_[Cullen (4:45PM)]: I get the feeling that you’re one of the types who just makes up their minds to do something… and then does it._  
_[Dorian (4:46PM)]: its how i ended up here for sure_  
_[Cullen (4:46PM)]: Here as in this city?_  
_[Dorian (4:48PM)]: here as in not tevinter_  
_[Cullen (4:49PM)]: It was so bad you had to leave the entire country?_  
_[Dorian (4:49PM)]: it wasn’t good_  
_[Dorian (4:50PM)]: i would hate to scare u away with bad stories_  
_[Cullen (4:51PM)]: I’m no stranger to bad stories._  
_[Cullen (4:53PM)]: Also… scare me away from what?_  
_[Dorian (4:56PM)]: i dont know…friendship maybe?  
_ _[Dorian (4:57PM)]: its a bit heavy for a passing acquaintance_

And there it was. The sound of the rain pattering on the window echoed how more than a few hopes had fallen off teetering edges. Passing acquaintance. That was what he was? Or had it been possibly more before he’d stuck his foot in his mouth and kept firmly cramming it in? Maker only knew, but it made Cullen feel a little…maybe not sick, but heavy. Perhaps he should have known better.

_[Cullen (5:01PM)]: Sure. Yeah, I understand._  
_[Dorian (5:02PM)]: ur a good sort i think_  
_[Cullen (5:03PM)]: But you don’t know. Really. At all._  
_[Cullen (5:03PM)]: Sorry_  
_[Cullen (5:04PM)] It’s the rain._

He wanted to throw the phone. If he did maybe he could fake that it broke and hide for a while. It would be easy, after all. Dorian didn’t know much about him other than what they’d talk about so far. Cullen could avoid the train platform, give himself some space, and maybe he wouldn’t feel like such an idiot. Maker, he was a fool. Someone like Dorian didn’t want to be friends with someone like Cullen. The man could probably feel that something was off about him. It would make sense, after all. Why would Dorian want to share his stories, bad or otherwise, with him? More than that, why did Cullen want  _him to_?

“What am I doing?” he asked the empty room and pressed a hand over his face.

_[Dorian (5:12PM)]: we should be drinking somethng dark and bitter in a pub somewhere_  
_[Dorian (5:12PM)]: next to a window with rain streaking down it_  
_[Cullen (5:13PM)]: Ha. Wouldn’t that be a perfect picture._  
_[Cullen (5:14PM)]t: Though I’m more a pale ale man myself, so I’d ruin it._  
_[Dorian (5:15PM)]: we should do that sometime then_  
_[Dorian (5:17PM)]: if u want_  
_[Cullen (5:19PM)]: Next time it rains, you’re on._  
_[Dorian (5:21PM)]: and before that?_  
_[Dorian (5:22PM)]: or are we going to just keep on the daily train platform meetups for now?_  
_[Cullen (5:24PM)]: I do see you every day._  
_[Cullen (5:24PM)]: What else could I ask for?_

–

Shit. Well, there went that. Dorian frowned to himself as he poured another mug of coffee from the pot. He’d been leaned up against the counter, finger and thumb smoothing his mustache as he went back and forth from checking his email to checking his messages. He and Cullen had been doing this chat thing relatively steadily, though it did feel a bit like he was trying to balance some spinning plates. The talk was easy, but the topics felt like everything was one misstep from crashing around them both.

And then it had crashed.

_[Dorian (5:30PM): oh  
[Dorian (5:31PM): right. of course_

Maybe that coffee meetup had been too much. Maybe he’d flirted too hard without any indication that Cullen was interested at all. Maybe maybe maybe. Too many maybes. Dorian hated maybes. He hated maybes that made him second guess himself. That wasn’t what he did. He acted and people reacted. He didn’t worry. Worrying wouldn’t get him anything but more lines beside his eyes and a sick stomach. So maybe Cullen wasn’t interested. His loss, right? They could be…friends. Dorian asked friends for their numbers and if they wanted to go out all the time. Simple.

Right?

_[Cullen (5:36PM)]: I only meant that I don’t want to ask for any more of your time. You’ve given me plenty._  
_[Cullen (5:36PM)]: Which also came out wrong._  
_[Cullen (5:36PM)]: Maker, I can’t win. I’m just not that interesting. Or good. Really._  
_[Dorian (5:37PM)]k: not true_  
_[Dorian (5:38PM)]: i was hoping we might go out again_  
_[Dorian (5:38PM)]: we could get into trouble ;)_  
_[Cullen (5:42PM)]: … or not. We could not get into trouble._  
_[Cullen (5:42PM)]: :P_  
_[Cullen (5:44PM)]: Unless you’re dead set on the trouble?_  
_[Dorian (5:45PM)]: trouble can be fun_  
_[Dorian (5:46PM)]: i think u need trouble_  
_[Cullen (5:47PM)]: There are certain types of trouble I’d like to avoid, thank you._  
_[Dorian (5:48PM)]: like?_  
_[Dorian (5:50PM)]: does cullen have a sordid past?_  
_[Dorian (5:50PM)]: is he a tortured artist after all?_  
_[Cullen (5:54PM)]: I wouldn’t want to scare you away._

He hardly believed that. A man that looked like Cullen with those angelic curls that would make any Tower Age painter swoon couldn’t be scary. It was mathematically impossible. Granted, Dorian wasn’t into math, but it felt right. Cullen had kind eyes that looked perhaps like he’d seen some very not nice things, but he was hardly scary. The man was built like a great cat: strong and broad and yet surprisingly agile looking. Maybe he wasn’t, but Dorian liked to pretend that Cullen was like a lion that watched over his pride with his mane of gold and eyes that saw everything. It was fitting.

_[Dorian (6:17PM)]: playing coy over this kind of thing doesnt really work huh? :|_  
_[Cullen (6:19PM)]: So much gets lost. Tone. Expressions. That stuff._  
_[Dorian (6:20PM)]: pity_  
_[Dorian (6:20PM)]: maybe i should flirt harder when i see u next_  
_[Cullen (6:23PM)]: Flirt? Is that what we’re doing?_  
_[Dorian (6:25PM)]: is it not? maker, am i that rusty?_  
_[Cullen (6:26PM)]: Well, I didn’t want to assume anything._  
_[Dorian (6:27PM)]: have i.._  
_[Dorian (6:27PM)]: shit_  
_[Dorian (6:30PM)]: i thought u might have been interested_  
_[Dorian (6:42PM)]: well now this is very awkward_

And that was how he ended up flopped over the arm of the couch with his face buried in the cushion.  _Stupid. Stupid fucking stupid. You know better. What is even wrong with you?_  Dorian let out a frustrated groan that was muffled by how his face was pressed against the soft material, though it didn’t help. His stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots and…was that disappointment? Maker, save him from this oaf of a man. Certainly he’d be better off to not let himself get so worked up.

Cullen wasn’t interested. Done. Over. Stop thinking about it. Be friends with the man or make an excuse to lose his number. Those were the options. So what did he pick?

Like it wasn’t obvious.

_[Cullen (6:45PM)]: I’m great at making things awkward._  
_[Cullen (6:49PM)]: I don’t know what to say._  
_[Dorian (6:52PM)]: er…yeah_  
_[Dorian (6:52PM)]: sorry_  
_[Dorian (6:54PM)]: i shouldnt have assumed_  
_[Cullen (6:57PM)]: No. Stop. Things are just really complicated and shitty right now._  
_[Cullen (7:01PM)]: Not you. Everything else._  
_[Cullen (7:04PM)]: I don’t know how to be interested in anything other than paying bills and feeding myself._  
_[Cullen (7:10PM)]: I’m sorry. I’m an idiot._  
_[Dorian (7:17PM)]: no_  
_[Dorian (7:17PM)]: dont be sorry_  
_[Dorian (7:18PM)]: its fine. i understand._  
_[Cullen (7:23PM)]: I don’t think you do._

Apologize. Apologize and move forward. No need for explanations. Bad judgement. Dorian could blame it all on horrible judgement and maybe he could say he’d been drinking. That would work, wouldn’t it? Look at him, after all, he practically lived with a glass of wine in his hand. Anyone would believe that.

_[Cullen (7:25PM)]: Can we blame this on the rain?_  
_[Dorian (7:25PM)]: might be a good idea_  
_[Dorian (7:26PM)]: we could try starting over_  
_[Cullen (7:27PM)]: That would be nice._  
_[Dorian (7:28PM)]: right. of course._  
_[Dorian (7:30PM)]: uh…shitty weather we’re having. are u playing somewhere interesting today/tonight?_  
_[Cullen (7:32PM)]: Ha. I didn’t realize you were being so literal._  
_[Dorian (7:32PM)]: jokes_  
_[Cullen (7:34PM)]: But, indeed, the weather is shit. And I am playing somewhere tonight. I am sorely tempted to not go, though._  
_[Dorian (7:36PM)]: maybe next time, when its not terrible out, i could go?_  
_[Dorian (7:39PM)]: if u would have me i mean_  
_[Cullen (7:40PM)]: Dorian, of course I would._  
_[Dorian (7:42PM)]: so its planned then_  
_[Dorian (7:43PM)]: Yes. I’d be glad to see you._

Right. Friends then. He could do friends. He had friends. He had Sera and Felix and…well, he had Josephine and Leliana at work. Friends were easy. Friends went to lunch with him and made jokes at his expense sometimes. Friends went to see each other play in dive bars. Friends. Cullen was a friend. Simple. It was actually better, come to think of it. It would have been unfortunate for them to get close, intimate actually, and then the inevitable fall into drunken booty call. Cullen was a nice man and Dorian rather believed that he was entitled to some nice man type friends.

So he’d sped them along to something else. Talk of family and school days. Those topics were ones he could handle, though he might have been a bit more candid about his relationship with his parents than he should have been. They didn’t know much about each other, though. Maybe it was a good idea to have that out there. Baggage was something to perhaps be informed of, though not in gross detail. Everyone has bad shit, after all. Dorian knew he wasn’t special. Let him think instead of Cullen on a Uni campus quad with his guitar and smiling like he hadn’t seen him yet. That was a better use of his time.

_[Cullen (7:58PM)]: If it helps, I’m glad you’re here though._  
_[Dorian (8:00PM)]: thats very kind of u_  
_[Cullen (8:01PM)]: And that you take that particular train._  
_[Dorian (8:01PM)]: yes well im quite lucky you were there_  
_[Dorian (8:02PM)]: looking like u do too ;)_  
_[Dorian (8:03PM)]: that was me flirting, by the way :p_  
_[Cullen (8:05PM)]: This is me blushing, by the way._  
_[Cullen (8:05PM)]: Wait, you can’t see that._  
_[Dorian (8:06PM)]: id like to_

He was a very bad man. He was bad at setting boundaries, even his own, and bad at respecting them. Maker knew he tried…mostly. He couldn’t help it. Dorian flirted like he breathed and even if Cullen wasn’t interested he wasn’t going to let himself be boring. He flirted with everyone, after all, and loved the attention. Cullen’s attention was rather prized, despite his best efforts, and he’d take what he could fucking get. If it meant him using his imagination whilst being curled in bed late at night with those hands, eyes, and handsome face in his memory? So be it. It was a hazard of being so attractive, after all.

So Dorian abandoned the coffee and settled himself with the bottle of wine that he’d threatened before. It was easy to stretch out on the couch and let himself get warm and relaxed. Certainly it made the conversation a bit better. It took away a bit of his filter, however, and as he settled himself Dorian swore a bit as a bit of pinot noir spilled over his shirt. Ugh. Apparently it robbed him of his agility too. Oh well. Lazy Saturdays existed for this exact reason. A drink and a chat.

A drink and a chat and he needed to sate his curiosity. He needed to know. Cullen was too subtle for his own good, after all. Besides, what hard did it do to just…know, right?

_[Dorian (8:14PM)]: i suppose this is where i ask…er…  
[Dorian (8:14PM)]: no. its not important_

Except that he chickened out and now looked like an idiot. Great.

_[Cullen (8:16PM)]: See. You can’t do that and not expect me to press you._  
_[Cullen 8:17PM)]: Unless that’s what you want me to do._  
_[Dorian (8:19PM)]: no_  
_[Cullen (8:20PM)]: Either way…. what?_  
_[Dorian (8:24PM)]: its not something one asks over a text conversation. about ur…ah…maker now IM blushing_  
_[Cullen (8:25PM)]: 1. How is that even possible? 2. What?_  
_[Dorian (8:27PM)]: ur…preferences. probably best to be asked over a beer somewhere after a bit of flirting_  
_[Cullen (8:34PM)]: Ah. I see._  
_[Dorian (8:35PM)]: i shouldn’t_  
_[Dorian (8:35PM)]: its not important_  
_[Cullen (8:37PM)]: You just did._  
_[Dorian (8:38PM)]: u don’t have to answer_  
_[Dorian (8:38PM)]: i understand if u don’t want to_

“Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Dorian muttered to himself.

His phone buzzing made him jump, and he flicked the screen on to check it. Maybe he didn’t want the answer. It all felt very final.

_[Sera (8:40PM)]: So how’s the new boyfriend?_

Not helping. Very not helping. Dorian rolled his eyes and downed what was left in his glass before he poured himself another and got to his feet. It had been a long time since he’d asked a question like that. It had also been a long time since he’d had to ask. Most men he met were when he was out and they were very clearly interested Never mind that it genuinely didn’t matter what Cullen was interested in. He wasn’t interested in Dorian, clearly. What else mattered?

_[Cullen (8:52PM)]: I was married. To a woman. For 5 years. Before that… it was a mixed bag, so to speak._

Surprising. More surprising that he’d been married than anything else. Dorian never equated marriage with good things. Maybe it had ended badly. Maybe…well, it wasn’t fair to make assumptions. ‘Mixed bag’ could have meant a lot of things. He had a good idea, and it was actually a rather hot idea, but it wasn’t Dorian’s place to speculate.

So he’d left it for a while. What the hell was he supposed to say to that anyway?

_[Cullen (8:55PM)]: Since then, I haven’t been on the scene, or whatever the kids call it these days._  
_[Dorian (9:10PM)]: ah. well, curiosity satisfied then_  
_[Cullen (9:12PM)]: Wasn’t so difficult._  
_[Dorian (9:14PM)]: we can move on to a slightly less personal topic if it helps. i just didn’t want to be flirting where it wasn’t wanted_  
_[Cullen (9:15PM)]: Nah. That’s just who I am._  
_[Cullen (9:15PM)]: Though I admit i have no idea why you’d want to flirt with me._  
_[Cullen (9:17PM)]: Can’t say it’s not… flattering?_  
_[Dorian (9:20PM)]: talented handsome and humble_  
_[Cullen (9:24PM)]: More like exhausted, worn out and aware of his current rung on the ladder._  
_[Dorian (9:25PM)]: how so?_  
_[Dorian (9:25PM)]: the rung on the ladder thing i mean_  
_[Cullen (9:30PM)]: Just… I play for handouts._  
_[Cullen (9:32PM)]: And this is getting heavy. I’ll not unload._  
_[Dorian (9:33PM)]: its the rain_  
_[Cullen (9:36PM)]: It is_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the lovely artwork done by @mistysinkat, and the narration done by @sallyamongpoison.
> 
> Also, this is the part (chapter?) where it was decided that we'd split the voices and turn this into a bit of a published roleplay. In this part, @mistysinkat took on Cullen and @sallyamongpoison took on Dorian during the text messages. The narration was written in between (and after) the message conversation was played out.
> 
> So, from here on out it'll be a published roleplay with us taking the aforementioned roles. Hope you guys are enjoying it!


	4. Spotlights [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian makes good on his promise to go watch Cullen play, and Cullen wrestles with himself as he realizes that he may have more than friendly feelings for Dorian.

 

 

_You should just come yourself next week. When it's less perilous._

The week had felt entirely too long after that exchange. It was busy, with an auction on Wednesday night that kept Dorian spinning in circles for a while, but he couldn’t quite help the way he dug for his phone in his pocket more often than he should have. His and Cullen’s talk had sort of... well, not derailed, not really, but it wasn’t the light kind of thing it had been before. Perhaps that was Dorian’s fault. He shouldn’t have been so forward, maybe. Maker, he hadn’t had a proper flirt with someone that wasn’t a one night stand or standing booty call in over a year. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to not be so aggressive, especially toward someone who seemed like they had a rough time of it. It wasn’t fair, but that wasn’t really something one tried to explain over message or during the few minutes they saw each other at the train.

It was Friday, however, and Dorian’s plans for the weekend included laundry with a side of the apparently seedy bar show. He’d decided the night before that he was still going to take the offer to go, though he wasn’t so sure if he should say anything. Would it be weird to just show up? Cullen had warned him a few times, but Dorian wasn’t terribly worried. It wasn’t like the place was on the news constantly for fights or stabbings or anything like that. It was just a dive bar. It was just a dive bar with a musician he wanted to hear and friend he desperately wanted to make things right with.

So, once he’d stopped to get two cups of coffee that were both heavy on the cream and sugar, Dorian descended the stairs to the platform. His eyes fell immediately on Cullen, trained as they were to look for him, and Dorian steeled himself a bit as he made his way over. He was trying to look nonchalant. _Keep it together, Pavus, you’re not even dating._ Thankfully he didn’t knock over the cup as he set it down next to the other man and fished into his pocket for the change from the coffee to toss into the open guitar case, “Hey,” he greeted, “fancy seeing you here.”

\---------------------

“Quite the shock, I’m sure,” Cullen replied, trying not to wince at the sound of Dorian’s pocket change as it jangled into his case. The more he thought of the charismatic man beside him as “friend,” the more it hurt to keep taking. His change. His coffee. His time.

Dorian smiled then, beautiful, and something in Cullen’s chest hurt.

He coughed and turned his attention to his guitar - the only thing of value he had left that Samson hadn’t pawned off. Fuck, that wasn’t fair. He’d pawned a fair amount of his own life away for blue himself, hadn’t he?

He strummed a chord progression absently, warming his fingers up, and swallowed to get rid of that awful choking feeling. What was that?

_Ah. Shame._

He thought that he’d soundly killed his pride long ago when shit went south after Ella... well, after. As it turned out, some of his pride had survived, slumbering somewhere in the back corners of his mind. It was waking up now, answering Dorian’s call, and Cullen was caught somewhere between shame and anticipation.

Shame at how he was now. Shame at knowing Dorian would run screaming if he knew how much baggage he carried around with him. Shame at not having the courage to tell him.

But the anticipation of wanting to. Of seeing what would happen, despite the mountain of shit his life had become. The anticipation of what if… 

Dorian’s presence was a beacon. He always afforded Cullen the space he needed to perform. He always stood back so others could drop what they could in his case, but Cullen always felt those eyes on him.

_Why? Why does he watch me? Why does he care?_

_What if…_

Cullen stopped playing and looked up, taking a sip of the coffee Dorian had brought him.

“Thanks for this - it’s good,” Cullen nodded at Dorian before continuing, “So… ah… we talked a bit… last week. About coming to hear me play?”

\---------------------

“Yes!” he nodded to that and shifted his bag around a little so it wasn’t digging into his shoulder. Dorian never wanted to be in the way should someone be interested enough to talk to Cullen as well, but he didn’t quite feel like having a conversation off to the side. Something about that felt a little wrong. “I was going to ask if you were playing tonight, actually,” he went on, “since it’s Friday night, and I am very free of having to work this weekend. Think you might like to see a familiar face?”

There was a part of him that was actually nervous. He’d been nervous after that phenomenal cock up that was him flirting via text. Dorian relied on tone, which was why he worked so well in person, and with only a small army of emoticons to try to explain his motives, he often felt cut off. Text was fine in small doses, but it never really worked for much beyond making plans and gentle reminders of existence. Nice, but Dorian preferred face to face contact.

\---------------------

Part of Cullen had thought perhaps Dorian would beg off. That he'd said he wanted to come out of kindness, or that it was spur-of-the-moment thought. Something said flippantly to be polite.

After the way their last text conversation had gone - _why couldn’t I have just said I was interested?_ \- Cullen wouldn’t have blamed Dorian for conveniently forgetting the tentative plans they’d made

Astonishingly, it didn’t look like that was going to happen. 

_Maker, he means to come._

Cullen shifted his weight in his seat, scratching at his neck to hide the shock and… relief?... that he felt. It turned out that yes, he would like to see Dorian again, away from this train station. He would like that very much.

“Oh, I see familiar faces every weekend,” Cullen laughed, thinking of the one or two people Dorian would likely call his ‘groupies’... probably while smirking at his own joke, “But yours would be one I would actually welcome. I usually start at 10, but I get there around 9 or so.

He paused for a moment, “In case you felt like coming early.”

\---------------------

A grin, “Oh, well, I’m usually one to be there early,” Dorian teased before he took a sip of his coffee. It seemed perhaps Cullen wasn’t planning on being quite so skittish. He’d half expected the other man to find a reason to say no, or perhaps that he didn’t want Dorian there at all. His had been a spectacularly awkward moment, after all. One doesn’t ask about ‘preferences’ over text. Or call them that, for the Maker’s sake. What was _wrong_ with him? Other than the fact that he’d been interested in knowing if Cullen was interested. He’d really wanted to know. “I’m assuming jeans and a t-shirt are okay?” he asked, “and your poster board and underwear to throw? Or are we not doing that?”

\---------------------

Cullen affected a beleaguered sigh. But… he'd be lying if he said a little bit of him wasn't curious as to what… type… of undergarments would hit the stage if Dorian followed through with his tease. Surely, it was a tease? He was teasing, right?

Cullen decided he better put his foot down… just in case.

“Sweet Andraste! We’re definitely not doing that,” Cullen's bark of a laugh surprised even himself in how genuine it was. He felt himself relax and went back to strumming softly. “But yes, jeans and a t-shirt are fine. I'm rather curious to see what Dorian thinks is ‘dressing down’.”

He peered up at Dorian through the curls of hair that had fallen in his face to see the man’s reaction.

\---------------------

Right, so he wouldn’t be stopping to get anything frilly on the way home. Probably for the best. The second time out, especially when the other man was technically working, probably wasn’t the best time to start flinging around underwear. Though Dorian did tuck away that little fact that maybe Cullen didn’t so much go for the adventurous type of thing. That was fine. Shy could be fun, after all. Shy and coming out of the shell. Kind of hot.

He sipped from his coffee for a moment then smiled again, “One of these days you’ll see me not in work clothes and you’ll lose your mind,” Dorian teased, “maybe tonight.” He wouldn’t have minded seeing Cullen let loose a bit. He always seemed so tightly wound. Stressed. Then again, with the roommates the man seemed to have, it was understandable. Still, Dorian might have liked to see those curls be let down a little here and there. “And since I can’t have the underwear, I’ll bring the sign,” he went on, “something like ‘Cullen, I’m pregnant and it’s yours’ sound good? On bright pink with glitter?”

\---------------------

Cullen’s eyes widened and his fingers froze in position, hovering over the strings of his guitar.

_This man is incorrigible._

But there was no denying that this back and forth, the banter, it was fun. How long had it been since there was fun in his life? He didn’t want to add up the months and years since the last time he could really claim to be having _fun_. He desperately wanted to find that place where he could just enjoy life again.

And Dorian… there was something about him that made Cullen believe he could. The man was confident and smart and together in all the ways that Cullen wasn’t. In all the ways that made Cullen think he could be again.

_It’s ok, right? This little bit of fun? I can have just this much, can’t I?_

“Invitation rescinded,” Cullen replied flatly, but with a smirk that he hoped said that he was only playing along. Going with the banter. Prolonging the _fun_.

\---------------------

One eyebrow rose for that. So Cullen did want to play after all. Good to know. Maker knew most of the interaction between the men he talked to now had devolved from what started as playful banter to a steady bit of ‘hey, I’m horny, you wanna come over?’ so this was refreshing. Cullen also wasn’t the buttoned-up type. Literally, as in Dorian had never seen him in such a way. Perhaps emotionally he was, but maybe that one line was enough to loosen the collar just a little. He could work with that.

He shrugged, playing along, “Oh, well, if that’s what you _really_ want,” he commented as he took another drink from his coffee, “but you know you’ll be missing out. I can only imagine I’m a damn sight more fun than these groupies you seem to be scared of. More handsome too, but that’s just a fact.” Dorian winked then. It was one of his patented looks. Most people loved it... though there was the occasional type who found it obnoxious. Hopefully, Cullen was in the former camp. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to come?”

\---------------------

Cullen had been spinning up the gears to try and match wits with Dorian, a battle in which he knew he had the disadvantage. The workings of that particular part of his mind were caked with rust, after all, and it would take a good kick to the whole thing to knock some of it off. Still, he’d wanted to try.

That one wink shut the whole works down.

The cogs and gears ground to a halt, and the (hopefully) witty reply he would have had ready to shoot back at Dorian just… vanished on his lips. Amazing, really, what such a simple little gesture could do when wielded properly.

Dumbly, he realized his jaw had gone slack and Dorian was still waiting for an answer. He took a sip of his coffee to stall a bit longer.

It didn’t help. He found himself earnestly blurting the one thing that had been in his head ever since Dorian had mentioned he’d like to come hear him play at the bar. Despite all the arguments against it that Cullen had thrown up, despite all the teasing, Cullen couldn’t deny it.

“No. I want you to come.”

\---------------------

Something about that made his stomach feel a bit warm. It was a strange kind of feeling. Dorian had yet to ever feel the telltale melting of insides when it came to meeting someone, and he wasn’t so sure if it was a sensation he liked. Normally, he liked his distance. He liked control. He liked knowing that he could walk away at any moment and only feel the slightest hiccup that a night during the week would suddenly be clear. Or something.

 _Smitten. Smitten smitten smitten_.

He hated that word now. Hated it. Why had he thought it? Why had he let himself roll with that, of all things? Maker, he was _Dorian Pavus_ not some hormonal teenager who wrote the name of his crush in his diary at night. Men wrote _his_ name in _their_ diaries. That was how it had always been. Now? Now he found that the way those curls blew in the breeze and how Cullen’s hands moved over the guitar were etched in his brain for good or ill. Mostly, it had been pretty good. Cullen might not have thought so, but Dorian wasn’t about to start saying what he _did_ with those mental images. It was ridiculous.

“So, do I have to use a secret password to see you before you get on stage?” he asked, “knock three times and spin around like they do in the movies? Or is it customary for me to just come up and say hello, and offer to buy the first beer after the freebie?”

\---------------------

For the second time that evening, Cullen felt relieved. Even he could hear the... hope? need?... in his voice, and Dorian’s slight hesitation told him that he noticed it, too. For his part, Dorian seemed to take it in stride, though, so that was something.

_Calm down, Rutherford. Shit. Friends. You're friends. Don't push it._

“Nothing so formal, I'm afraid,” Cullen answered with a cough, “I'll be the guy sitting at the bar who looks a hell of a lot like me. Until 10, that is, then I'll be the guy on stage who looks like me.”

He grinned sheepishly, a red tinge blooming on his cheeks as he added, “No need to buy drinks. Tonight, it's *my* treat.”

\---------------------

“Is it?” Dorian asked. He was fighting entirely too hard to not let the smile on his face get any bigger. Looking like an over-eager dog wasn’t his way, but it was steadily becoming harder not to. A drink or two on someone else was a good thing. “I’ll look forward to it then,” he went on, and cast a glance upward as the pre-recorded announcement for train arrivals decimated any attempt at conversation for a moment.

\- _Attention Passengers: the next train departing from Platform Three will arrive at approximately 5:49 -_

That was still his. The clock said two minutes, which was just enough time to make sure all this was still what they wanted to do. Cullen still had time to tell Dorian ‘never mind’ should he want to. Dorian even had the option to balk should _he_ want to. He didn’t.

“So... nine, then?” Dorian asked, “Look for someone who looks like you and try to avoid the groupies?”

\---------------------

“All two of them, yes,” Cullen chuckled, “And Dorian? Let’s leave the poster board and glitter at home, ok?”

The impish grin he got in return made Cullen a little nervous and, if he was being honest, a little weak in the knees. He opened his mouth to say more, but the train came into the station with a blast of its horn. The din of Dorian’s fellow travelers and roar the oncoming train made it impossible to carry on with any more conversation, so Cullen found himself waving lamely at Dorian as he turned toward the tracks.

As he did most every day, Cullen watched Dorian make his way to the train. Usually, his pace was quick, determined… but there was something about his gait today…

_Andraste’s blood!_

Was he imagining it, or was there just a little more… wiggle… in Dorian’s step? Surely, he was imagining it. Surely. 

The station usually felt more than a little empty after Dorian boarded his train and headed home. Today, however… today was unbearable. Cullen couldn’t help but agonize over everything he’d said. Did he seem too eager? Was he too aloof? What in the hell was he really wanting out of all this, anyway? He’d told himself he just wanted a friend. It was nice to have a friend. But the way that wink had stopped him in his tracks. The way that smile had made his heart jump a little.

_What is this?_

He managed to play through two more songs before he gave it up as a bad deal, packed it up, and hopped on the train that would take him home.

He had to get ready.

\---------------------

The rest of the evening may have been spent in much the same fashion as the one before his first date. Well, no, that was a lie. His first date had been spent in mutual silence with a girl he’d known for years. They’d been ordered to have a night out together so they could get comfortable before the wedding. What wasn’t silence was complaining, and they’d ended up ditching the hired car to play billiards in some dive bar that perhaps even Cullen would be proud of. No, this was maybe more like how he felt the first time he’d accepted the invitation to summer with Rilienus’ family in the country. He’d spent three days staring at an empty trunk trying to figure out what to pack and what to wear and what to say before he’d almost called to beg off. Thankfully he hadn’t.

Standing in front of the mirror, dressed in a pair of nice jeans and button down, Dorian wondered if this was still too much. Why was he even stressed about it? It made no sense to be. So he was maybe putting out the moves a bit stronger than usual. As it was, that little hip swivel as he got on the train was probably one of the dumbest things he’d ever done. Provided, of course that Cullen even noticed. He probably hadn’t. What had he been thinking? _Okay, no. Get it together. You’re hardly a teenager anymore._

But maybe he’d dressed a bit like one. He’d changed, dressed as down as he could manage in jeans with rips in the knees that he’d made himself, as opposed to buying them that way, and a thick, cabled sweater in teal that was both immeasurably warm and soft while still setting off his good looks. There. Fine. He was happy with that and left for the bar before he could think too hard about it. A quick cab ride let him miss most of the rain, and when the car pulled in front of the bar Dorian took a moment to steel himself. This was fine. He was seeing a friend perform. That was all.

A few strides inside and Dorian was already looking for a familiar face. He felt at ease pretty much everywhere, usually, but this was actually not his scene. With people, it would have been fine, but walking in alone felt way too much like a movie he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be in.

\---------------------

Cullen sat at the bar, nursing a beer and trying hard not to look too jumpy.

Maker, but he was nervous. It was an odd feeling, really. The last time Cullen could remember being this riddled with nerves before a performance was when he’d auditioned for entrance into the fine arts school he attended for undergrad. All those people just… watching and judging him. It had set his teeth on edge and made his blood turn to ice. Everything since then had been a proverbial piece of cake. At least, where music was concerned.

But tonight. Tonight was different. Dorian would be there. Dorian, with the incessant flirting that hid what Cullen suspected was a kind heart. Dorian, who had somehow managed to make his days a bit more tolerable with his jokes and concern and, yes, even his oddly formatted texts - truly, Cullen had a hard time reconciling the articulate man who made his head spin with the truncated, smiley-face ridden texts he sent.

He pushed a stray bit of hair out of his face and sighed. Even though he’d left the train station early, he’d still only had a few minutes to get ready. His selection of clothes was laughable, but damn it, he was still going to try to look… halfway decent. In the end, he’d gone with the one pair of jeans that had managed to remain relatively hole-free - _how in the world do I manage to rip the same spot in every pair I own?!_ \- and a black button down he’d forgotten he owned.

He’d taken a quick shower and actually had meant to shave, but the clock told him he needed to prioritize if he was going to get there before Dorian - and he did want to get there before Dorian. He knew how it felt to walk into a strange place and be alone. He didn’t want to leave his friend stranded.

So, time running short, he’d decided to fight with his hair instead.

_Maker, this hair!_

Nothing tamed that mop of curls. He lacked the product and the proper tools to even attempt it, so, sighing, he’d decided to pull the top half back into a ponytail and call it good enough.

Looking into the mirrored wall behind the rows of booze at the bar, he doubted it was. He doubted it very much.

_Wait… good enough for what? This isn’t a date. This is not a date. I’m meeting a friend._

He still pulled a face at his unruly hair as someone in an incredibly _teal_ sweater sidled up beside him.

\---------------------

A breath. _Cool. Play it cooler than you’ve ever managed._ Dorian set an easy smile on his face as he came closer. That mop of curls was as good an identifier as a sign, really, and Dorian all but hopped onto the empty seat beside Cullen. He looked... upset? Dorian didn’t quite recognize that expression, not really. “I hope that sour face isn’t for me,” he commented, “or that you’ll keep on like that. Would be a shame if things froze that way, don’t you think?”

\---------------------

In the space of a heartbeat, Cullen rearranged his face and allowed himself to cut a look - _please don't notice, I can't help it -_ down Dorian’s frame. Dorian had been right about one thing… he wore the look well. The shade of teal managed to somehow set off the grey in his eyes and compliment his skin tone at the same time.

Cullen couldn't admit to having “lost his mind” over the casual ensemble as Dorian had teased. At least, not out loud.

“No, it's this damn hair. I should just chop it all off. What do you think? Just cut it off and comb it back and be done,” Cullen grumbled, “Also, hello. Glad you found the place ok.”

\---------------------

Dorian would have missed that hair if it were cut. That said, he would have rather liked to run his fingers through it and maybe tug a little-

_Whoa_

“A friend of mine comes here every so often,” he answered as he lifted a hand to get the bartender’s attention, “She and her girlfriend are the shots on fire type, and they tend to get thrown out of the nice places for that kind of shenanigans.” Dorian smiled then, eyes moving over Cullen’s face. He’d seen him not hours before, but it was almost foreign to know he’d get to see him for longer than a few minutes at a time. “But I am glad to be here,” he went on, “on time slash early, even. Makes me wonder how long you’ve been waiting.”

\---------------------

Well, shit. Of course Dorian was the punctual type. Now, Cullen just looked desperate or overeager or both.

_Just breathe, Rutherford. In and out. It's just small talk. You can do this._

“A friend, huh? Maybe I've seen her around then. What's she look like?”

Perhaps Dorian wouldn't notice he was blatantly ignoring the remark about how long he'd been waiting.

 _Years_ , if he was being honest. _Years for someone like you to come in and shake shit up._

\---------------------

“Tiny girl, blonde, very loud,” he answered before turning to order a cocktail from the bartender. Maybe it wasn’t the best plan in a place like this, but Dorian wasn’t about to give up his usual ways just because everyone else was nursing pints of beer. He wanted something dark and sweet. Usually that would be something whoever he went home with would be tasting on his lips for hours, but that was most decidedly not on the cards. Not... not on the cards. This wasn’t a date.

One hand tapped on the bar, black lacquered nails made a sharp sound that was only mostly lost in the quiet hum of people talking and the music, and Dorian turned back to Cullen. This wasn’t a date. Why did it feel like a date? “I was also promised groupies,” he teased, “Shouldn’t you have a stick or something to beat them off with?” Maker, he could only imagine what it might feel like should someone approach Cullen with him sitting right there. A stab of jealousy, imagined or otherwise, bolted through his stomach. When had _that_ happened? No. No, he wasn’t doing that. Not now.

\---------------------

“Sounds familiar, but there are a fair few here who match that description.”

Again with the groupies. Dorian seemed very interested in the regulars that came here for him.

_I won't read into it. He's teasing. It's his way._

Still, that flash in his eye was interesting. There was… something… there, certainly, though Cullen couldn't say what.

He watched Dorian take a sip of… whatever the concoction he'd just ordered was… and decided to poke the dragon with the stick he was apparently supposed to have. Just to see what would happen. For fun.

Definitely not to see if maybe, maybe, Dorian didn't like the idea of him getting attention from others. Nope. Not at all.

“As for the ‘groupies,’ as you so considerately call them, it's a bit early yet for the main offender to show her face. She's rather persistent. I wish I had a stick sometimes.” He paused for effect, “Still… not unattractive. In her way.”

\---------------------

Well, that was altogether very confusing. Okay, so maybe not so much. They’d never really landed anywhere on the whole thing between them, after all. They texted, chatted when they saw each other, and Dorian was enjoying seeing someone he knew play a show. That was hardly grounds to be possessive. Cullen had been married before. To a woman. Maybe he preferred women over men, interest in both aside. Dorian could understand that. It wasn’t as if Cullen had said ‘I like you’ or anything that was a bit more mature than that to him. He’d deal with it.

That didn’t keep him from gripping his glass a little tighter though. “Oh?” he asked, and winced at how high pitched his voice had come out. Dorian coughed, sipped his drink, and tried again: “I... am sure it’s all in good fun,” he pointed out, “or at least good natured. It’s always nice to have someone be interested in you, right?” _Maker, shut up, Pavus._

\---------------------

Cullen raised an eyebrow at that. Years of teaching followed by years of operating in the less-than-desirable sea of humanity he found himself currently in had taught him more than a bit about looking for signs. In the classroom, he looked for signs of boredom or mischief. In the streets, he looked for signs of aggression or questionable intent.

Yes, Cullen was good at reading people to protect himself. He wasn't always good at dealing with them, however, if this exchange was anything to go by.

Beside all that, he didn't really need to tap either his experience as a teacher or as a drifter to read that strained tone or know what that working jaw meant.

Interesting, if utterly unbelievable. It did bother Dorian. He'd expected some snarky remark. He'd expected banter. He hadn't planned on actually bothering Dorian.

His brow furrowed in confusion and a bit of incredulity.

“Yes, well, she's a little too interested if you ask me,” he spoke, a bit too quickly, before shifting subjects, “what is that… thing… you're drinking?”

\---------------------

“Old Fashioned,” he answered, “bitter and sweet and a bit tangy... here’s where I normally say ‘just like me’ but that might be too obvious, right?” He had to get himself back on track. Whatever jealousy he might have felt could only be momentary. Cullen hadn’t even _asked_ him to come. He’d invited himself despite more than a few warnings. There was every possibility that the man didn’t want him there at all, but was being too polite to rescind the... offer? Maybe he didn’t want the man who stuck out like a sore thumb in this kind of place anywhere near him. “And you?” he asked, not allowing himself to get too far into that train of thought, “you said you were a pale beer kind of man. Don’t like bitter things?”

\---------------------

There was the banter he'd expected. A bit superficial, yes, but fun. Dorian's comfort zone, it seemed.

Which was fine with Cullen.

_Keep it light. Keep it on the surface. Maybe we won't have to talk about all the dark shit._

Knowing that Dorian was fine with the shift in subjects relaxed Cullen. He'd conducted his experiment and observed the results. He found that they were terrifying, so yes, teasing about drinks was preferable to skating too close to the line of… facing whatever this was.

He could tell himself it was friendship all day, but friends didn't check out friends’ asses as they walked to their trains. Friends didn't intentionally see if friends would get a little jealous over someone else's attentions.

Friends didn't wonder if friends’ lips and hands were as soft as they looked.

_What the fuck am I doing? I know better._

Still, that didn't stop him from grinning as he replied, “No, I do like bitter and tangy and especially sweet. Just not necessarily _in my drink.”_

\---------------------

That made him smile and Dorian took a deep drink from his glass as if to show off, “Are you _sure?”_  he asked, “you should try it. You might like it.” Certainly he might need to file that information away for later. To what end? Dorian had no idea. It still felt like something he should do. Instead, and he was probably stepping over that line again, he pushed his glass over toward Cullen’s hand a bit. “Go on,” he offered and licked his lips, “there could be whole worlds of things you didn’t know you liked.” And oh, how Dorian had contemplated them at length when he had the time.

\---------------------

It was suddenly insufferably warm. Altogether too warm. How was it possible that the temperature had gone up so much in the span of a few seconds?

Those lips. That smile. That glint in his eye.

_Shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit._

Cullen often imagined there was a little panic button somewhere in his mind. He'd hit it innumerable times before in his life. Times when he locked up in anger or confusion or hurt. He was dangerously close to hitting it now. He knew, he _knew_ he shouldn't. The man next to him, nice as he was, didn't know anything about him. He may as well have been from another planet for how much they had in common. For all Cullen knew, he was just a little side project for someone with too much time and too much money on his hands.

But that didn't feel right, and the hand above the red button pulled away.

Maybe it was the beer he'd already drunk talking, but he decided to see.

“And if I do… what will I have earned?”

\---------------------

There were a hundred answers for that, and each one could genuinely get more filthy than the last. Opting for something light was probably his best choice. This was a tenuous thing, if the way Cullen was sweating now was any indication. The man had been right about his blushing at anything moderately embarrassing. Though the blush was nice. Dorian rather liked making attractive men blush. “Hm,” Dorian replied, and lifted one hand so he could tap a ring covered finger against his lips.

Oh, but he was a bad man, wasn’t he?

“I suppose I could ask what you _want_ ,” he mused, “but maybe if you did like it then I’d have something a bit more impressive to order for you should we ever do drinks again. It never hurts to know more than just what kind of beer a man likes.” That and trying to play a guessing game of that variety was only fun once. Dorian didn’t do tedious no matter how attractive the man was. “But go ahead,” he offered again and nodded toward the glass, “I promise I’m not sick or anything. You’ll be fine.”

\---------------------

_What do I want? He's right to wonder. Considering I don't even know myself._

What he wanted wasn't relevant. What he wanted was to continue this line of discussion until it ended elsewhere, preferably somewhere soft and dark and private.

In another lifetime, maybe, one where he could support himself. One where he didn't still get the shakes from needing a hit of blue so badly he cried. One where he was worth something.

It was a sobering thought, and suddenly reality snapped back into place. He couldn't. He couldn't.

Friends. It had to be that. Nothing more.

Cullen shifted back into his seat. He hadn't even realized he'd been inching towards Dorian this whole time.

_Maker, I let this get a little out of control._

“While I'm sure you have fine taste, I'm afraid I'll have to pass. No telling what that mix could do to the voice, after all….”

He knew it was lame. He knew he was obviously backing out. He knew it might make Dorian lose interest and excuse himself – politely, of course, but he'd still be running.

Maybe that would be the best for Dorian, after all.

\---------------------

One of these days, not now, he might have to have a word about these mixed signals. Dorian had rather liked that warm level of flirtation and how Cullen had started to lean in. It was a good sign. The blushing had been a good sign. And then... Dorian could almost see the tire tracks for how quickly Cullen had reversed out. What did that mean? _Was_ he interested? Had Dorian done something wrong? Too much too soon? It was probable. Dorian did rather like a flourish and pushing those boundaries just to see if there were any. Cullen was maybe not that type. After all, he’d said he didn’t like trouble, and Dorian was most definitely a world of something.

“Pity,” he answered after a moment and picked his glass back up, “I think you would have liked it.” And how he might have liked to sip from the spot Cullen’s lips had been pressed to. That scar haunted the edges of his thoughts most of the time as it was, and the possibility of tasting it? Another bolt went through him, but it wasn’t anything like jealousy this time. He was suddenly warm, too. A train of thought like that really was going to get him in trouble. “Beer it is, then,” he offered, “we can work up to the cocktails when you’re not due on stage soon, yes?”

\---------------------

An odd sort of emotion ran through Cullen then. Relief, yes. He was glad he hadn't completely upset the apple cart by working away from the innuendo. But there was also more than a touch of regret.

_It’s better this way. Safer._

But that begged the question… safer for who? Was he really trying to protect Dorian here…. Or was he keeping the man at arm's length to protect himself?

Shaking his head to rid himself of that particularly uncomfortable thought, he grinned and replied, “I promise, next time, I'll let you order for me. Whatever strange little thing your heart desires.” He held up his left hand, covering his own heart with his right, “On my honor.”

\---------------------

“Oh, a boy scout,” Dorian chuckled, “should have seen that one coming.”

Sadly, that strange thing his heart desired wasn’t really a drink. Something strong, surely, and he could make any number of jokes about things being stiff, but he liked to keep the wit to a minimum in his own head. He wanted whatever Cullen was offering, and, were the man not due on stage in however long, Dorian would have suggested they grab some takeout and go somewhere that wasn’t public. Friends still did that, after all. Friends did that, and maybe Dorian could have seen Cullen relax for once.

\---------------------

“No, not quite. Wanted to, but there were three of us, and not enough money to go around,” Cullen replied, “You'll have to take me at my word, unfortunately.”

Cullen's eyes strayed to the clock behind the bar. It was about time to head up there and leave Dorian alone at the bar. He felt a little guilty for that. He should have suggested he bring a friend.

Still, it made him a little tingly to know Dorian had come all the way here alone just to see him.

Cullen coughed and stood. It was still too hot. The thought of going up on that stage and boiling alive wasn’t appealing. Not at all. He questioned his choice of shirts, considered the alternative, and decided there was nothing for it.

He unbuttoned his overshirt and pulled it off. The white t-shirt under it would have to do, however snug.

“It’s about that time. It's gonna be an inferno up there. I’m sorry, would you… mind keeping an eye on this for me?” he asked as he held his shirt out to Dorian.

\---------------------

Suddenly the opening two minutes of every bad porn Dorian had ever watched filled his thoughts. This was the portion with the bad acting where he took the shirt and all but clung to it while he made moon eyes, then they’d go off and fuck in an alley. It made his insides, which heretofore had never ‘melted’ at Cullen, do some little twist. His blood was hot and he realized he was staring a bit with an open mouth.

“Uh, sure,” he managed after a rather embarrassing few heartbeats. Dorian held out a hand and took the shirt, though he told himself he wasn’t paying attention to how warm it was in his fingers nor the fact that it smelled like whatever cologne the other man wore. It was fine. He wasn’t sweating under his own sweater for the thought of it, either.

And then it was time for the much touted show. Dorian was actually excited about this part since he only ever got to hear snippets of things Cullen wrote. He did so love the man’s voice and how it seemed to curl around him from the inside. That said, he wasn’t quite prepared for how his eyes roamed over Cullen’s back as the other man moved. There was muscle there, muscle that didn’t come from machines at the gym, and it was very nice to look at. A quick glance lower too, another pair of slightly less tatty jeans that hugged in all the right ways, and Dorian actually hoped the little scene in his head played out. It wouldn’t, obviously, but how glorious would it be to get a handful each of Cullen’s ass?

_Stop, Pavus! You’re not some fourteen year old anymore. Have some decency._

\---------------------

 _Ah, smooth move, idiot,_ Cullen thought as he took in Dorian’s dumbstruck look. _I was trying to cool this off, wasn’t I?_

Well, the damage was done. At least he had an excuse to make a somewhat graceful exit. He hoped Dorian wasn’t watching him walk to the door that led backstage. The burning sensation in the center of his back told him that he was.

He glanced at the stage as he passed. His guitar was there where he'd put it before Dorian had arrived, as well as the drum set and the keyboard for the band.

The band. Damn, he'd meant to let Dorian know that he was performing with an honest-to-Maker band tonight. Lace Harding and her friends played here often and sometimes invited Cullen to join in. “Variety is the spice of life,” as she’d said.

Oh well, Dorian seemed like the sort of man who enjoyed a surprise or three. He was in for a little one this evening.

Cullen walked into the tiny prep area the owner liked to call “backstage.” As soon as the door closed behind him, he made sure the little window was open and lit up a cigarette. He didn’t dare in front of Dorian, but Maker, did he need a smoke. He closed his eyes and sighed, centering himself for a moment before he felt a light punch to his shoulder.

“Hey…” he complained, opening one eye.

“Hey, yourself,” Harding replied with a grin, “Did you get the set list?”

Something about her tone made him think things had gone south.

“I did....” Cullen answered, narrowing his eyes at her in suspicion.

“Great, because we're changing it.”

“What…” Cullen began before Harding cut him off.

“Well, more like you're going out there on your own for a bit. Rylen managed to snap _two_ strings just now… it's a whole _thing_ ,” she rolled her eyes and held her hands up in mock supplication, “Think you can stall a bit? Pleeeeeaaaaase?”

“Fine,” Cullen grumbled, “But you owe me, pint size.”

“Fair enough,” Harding said with a grin, “By the by... The gentleman in the… colorful sweater?”

“What about him?” Cullen asked, knowing exactly where she was going.

“Oh, nothing. I’ve just never seen you have a drink with anyone before. Not that they haven't tried. Just curious about the one who succeeded, is all.” Harding winked at him and flashed a conspiratorial smirk.

“Friend, Harding. He's a friend,” Cullen replied flatly.

“If you say so… still, you hair sure looks nice tonight, Cullen,” she sang as she joined the rest of her bandmates, leaving Cullen slack jawed and not a little pink on the cheeks.

Ah, but now he had to think of what to play while the band was scrambling to fix Rylen’s bass. His mind shuffled through his catalog quickly.

 _No, not that one. Too poppy for me alone..._ _Not that one, either. Maker, that's a love song..._ _Aha. This one._

Cullen took a breath and walked on stage.

The stage. The one place where he still felt alive. Like he mattered. It was his domain, and there would be no wasted movement here, no fumbling awkwardness. Here, he could be himself. Here, he could be _Cullen_. Cigarette still dangling from his lips, he walked slowly, confidently to his guitar and shouldered it with a smooth movement. He took a moment to survey the crowd - and there was a crowd tonight. Most were still chatting amongst themselves. Only a few had looked up at him, curious to hear what he had in store for them. Dorian’s bright grey eyes were amongst those few already trained on him. Cullen nodded in his direction.

_Well, I'll just have to get everyone's attention, won't I?_

He took one last drag on the cigarette and snuffed it in the ashtray on the stool beside him. Cullen straightened, rolling his shoulders to get comfortable, and strummed a few notes on his guitar.

It was time.

He took a deep breath and belted out the opening notes, a growling wail of a melody that cut through the buzz of the bar and demanded attention. As his voice echoed and died, the bar went silent. All eyes were on him. Someone in the back yelled, “yeah!” and Cullen grinned devilishly before continuing.

_No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave  
No matter how many breaths that you took, you still couldn't breathe_

As he sang, the melody, the lyrics washed over him and took him to a better place. This was a place he would happily lose himself in. This was where he felt complete again. Whole. Right.

 _No matter how many nights that you lie wide awake to the sound of poison rain_  
_Where did you go? Where did you go? Where did you go?  
_ _As days go by, the nights on fire_

The song was moody as hell, and his voice cracked and broke over the lyrics in all the right ways. He could feel electricity in the air, an energy that breathed life into him. Even with his eyes closed, he knew the audience was enraptured. They hung from his every word as his body moved with the song of its own will.

 _Tell me would you kill to save a life?_  
_Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?_  
_Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn_  
_This hurricane's chasing us all underground_

He sang like his soul depended on it. In some ways, he knew it did. His voice was raw, but that's what he wanted. Emotion. A connection to something, someone.

Dorian?

Cullen’s fingers stilled on his guitar, he wanted to sing the next lines without accompaniment. He wanted his voice to be the only thing they ( _he_ ) heard. He wanted them ( _him_ ) to really hear him. He felt the crowd lean forward together, sensed their bated breath, as he moved closer to the microphone.

_Do you really want...  
Do you really want me?_

He looked through the tendrils of hair that had fallen in his face, amber eyes searching for grey in the crowd. They met and locked for a single moment. He couldn't help it. He could no more have stopped himself from seeking out Dorian than he could have stopped the sun from rising in the morning. Cullen broke first, looking away quickly and silently cursing himself for that slip. There was no mistaking, however. He’d _wanted_ Dorian to hear the question. He’d _wanted_ Dorian to want him. He’d _wanted_.

\---------------------

Things like this were never quite what Dorian came to expect. He’d been invited to little gigs before, mostly when he was still in school and people he knew still entertained the idea that they might be rock stars. He’d always gone, if only for the prospect of free booze, and had always been surprised. Sometimes things were good, most of the time it was mediocre with something better after a few shots, and sometimes things were bad. It was a rare occasion for Dorian to be especially thrilled, one way or the other, but he’d heard Cullen before. He’d heard him through the rush of people, still clear as anything in his own head, and this was that turned up to eleven.

It was probably a good thing he wore something with sleeves to hide how the hair on his arms stood up on end. Sure, he’d _heard_ Cullen. This was an _experience_. The one hand resting in his lap to hold Cullen’s shirt tightened its grip just a little. For all that it mattered, Dorian could have been the only one in the room, despite the few that let out cheers and shouts. Maybe it was selfish, but there for a moment he wondered if maybe Cullen was singing _to him_. It was absurd, considering how Cullen had acted before, but there was the part of him that maybe hoped just a little too hard. But the way the other man looked at him…

_Do you really want...  
Do you really want me?_

Maker, _yes_ , he really did. Dorian heard and felt that line moved through his spine and go all the way down to his toes. He hadn’t felt that kind of electricity in a long time. Maybe ever. It could have been anything, though. Cullen was a performer, and most certainly came into his own when he was up on stage. That much was for certain. He was... open, open in ways Dorian hadn’t seen yet, and it was something to behold. Far gone was the shy man who blushed at half the things he said and up there he was replaced by someone sure and strong. Dorian knew Cullen had it in him, after all, but to see it was a whole different story. That was a man who knew what he wanted and didn’t have trouble saying so. Dorian liked that type.

And then those eyes had been on him. There was no denying it. Cullen was looking for, and then at, him. Dorian felt it like someone had knocked the wind out of him, and suddenly the world around him dimmed. They were the only two in the whole universe for maybe half a second. It was trite and cliché and Cullen was genuinely standing up there under a spotlight, but he couldn’t help it. It was almost unfair. No, actually it was terribly unfair since it seemed like Cullen wasn’t interested. He’d bitten a little, here and there, but always moved away. Someone like that didn’t make moves like _this_ with the eye contact and making Dorian’s stomach flutter.

It felt like he was on one of those teacup rides at a theme park. He was spinning in small circles and then in a larger one again. The song wasn’t long enough for him to contemplate it, to try to parse out what part of it was maybe Cullen trying to look impressive and what parts were maybe him flirting. Dorian didn’t want to assume anything, mostly out of self-preservation, and telling himself that Cullen was _singing to him_ was a dangerous road to go down.

_Don’t get attached. He’s basically chased you off a few times. Don’t. Get. Attached._

So he breathed. He breathed and smiled and slung Cullen’s shirt over his shoulder, ignoring that he could smell the man’s cologne with ease now, and clapped. The man on stage was very good. Better than Dorian could have anticipated. He was glad he’d decided to invite himself along. It was a good show. It was a good show by a friend that Dorian was seeing because they were friends and that was the end of it. _No one_ was singing to him, about him, near him... whatever. Cullen probably just made eye contact because he was a familiar face, after all. Nothing untoward.

_Get it together, Pavus. Get. It. Together._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, this story is going to be a published roleplay, so I hope the change in format didn't jar anyone too harshly. 
> 
> This is the first of three parts to this particular arc. We didn't want to overload you with everything all at once!
> 
> The song referenced during Cullen's set is the acoustic version of "Hurricane" by 30 Seconds to Mars (because, yes, Misty likes Jared Leto). You can listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bvz6Tsea6GM


	5. Spotlights [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen continues to fight with himself, and Dorian provides a bit of much-needed support.

Cullen got through three more songs before the situation with Rylen’s bass sorted itself and the band joined him… to several hoots and hollers from the crowd.

“Nice opener,” Harding shot at him from the corner of her mouth as she adjusted her mic.

Nice indeed. For all the internal arguments, the reasons why he couldn't, he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He hadn't felt like this since… well, in a long time. The fact remained, however, that he'd yet to disclose any real details about who he was. What he was. It wouldn't be fair to Dorian to tangle him up in all his shit. But he couldn't quite stop the flirting. He played the rest of the set, upbeat, poppy covers, fighting the guilt he felt at…

Maker, was he stringing the man along? Was he being cruel to someone who'd been so kind, in his own way?

The set ended, and Cullen felt more than a little anxious to go see Dorian during the break. Anxious to see what he thought, sure, but also anxious to see if it was true. If he was… leading the man on.

The thought made him blush in frustration, deepening the red on skin that was already flushed and sweaty with exertion. He'd been right - it was an inferno under those lights, but the heat hadn't been entirely because of the temperature, had it? Still, he managed to make his way back to Dorian at the bar, slouching instead of using the swagger he affected on stage, and pointedly avoiding being drawn into conversation with people in the crowd as he did so.

“So,” he said when he finally reached Dorian, eyes cast a bit to the side, “What did you think?”

\---------------------

The set had been good. Dorian quite liked the band. He liked the man more, but the band was a good addition. He hummed along, smiled for the sound of Cullen’s voice doing things to songs he’d heard before to turn them into something new, and always clapped. At the end of the set, he’d even stuffed two fingers in his mouth to let out a loud whistle. What? Friends did that. He certainly would never whistle _at_ someone like that. Not seriously.

And then there was the man that Dorian knew. He knew that slouch and how he avoided people. Their few interactions outside of the train platform were enough to show him that. It was almost like two different people. Then again, that wasn’t exactly weird. Dorian in front of clients and people at work was certainly different to the Dorian around friends. This wasn’t new territory. Still, the complete difference was a little astounding.

When Cullen came closer he smiled. He couldn’t help it. Dorian was incredibly impressed. “I think I’m glad I invited myself down tonight,” he answered, “that’s... you’re really good. This place does you absolutely no justice.”

\---------------------

Something about the honesty in that compliment made Cullen's chest ache. He swallowed to force that feeling away. It mostly worked.

“Ah, thanks, but this is what I've got,” he replied, still not quite meeting Dorian's eyes. He didn't trust himself to. Not yet. “Once upon a time, I had dreams of grandeur, before I decided to teach. But dreams don't always pan out. So here I am.”

_Shit. Don't get mopey. Not now. Later, when you're alone. Not in front of him._

Cullen’s hand went to work at the perpetual knot at the base of his neck as he added, “I'm glad you came. Did I say that already?”

\---------------------

That was an endearing sight. Despite his unease, Cullen really was quite the man. “I’m thrilled to be here,” he answered, “mostly at the singer’s request. And... you know, between the two of us, I’m sure we could glam the place up a bit.” Dorian shrugged then, and looked down at his empty glass for a second. So what did he say now? Did he comment on the song? Did he comment that he might have thought Cullen was singing _to_ him? Was there etiquette on that?

“You look comfortable up there,” he observed, “different. It suits you.”

\---------------------

Cullen brightened a bit at that and smiled. Memory softened his face and his whole frame relaxed, if only a little.

“I am. More comfortable, I mean. Ever since I was a kid, music has always done me right. It's seen me through some... rough times.”

Flashes of memories flitted behind his eyes. Singing with his mother and his siblings as they worked around the house. The first bumbling song he'd ever written. The painfully lame and hopelessly romantic way he'd serenaded Ella when they were dating. Playing through happiness and grief and losing himself in song, only to find himself somehow better at the end.

Tonight had been a little different, though. He'd let the song take him away for a while, but he'd brought himself back out again before it was over… specifically to look for the man in front of him.

Wistful smile still playing at his lips, he finally met Dorian's gaze properly.

“But it seems you've run out of that _mixture_ you're drinking. I have time for another drink before the second set. You're sticking around for that, right?”

He could have groaned at how eager he sounded.

\---------------------

Dorian liked this side of Cullen. He liked how sure he was, and how it seemed to stoke his confidence. Strong and confident men were a bit of a weakness for Dorian, and the man that had been up on stage was certainly that. Even this slightly more dimmed version was doing something for him. It was easy to lose himself in that, too, and there was a want to just abandon the worry of whatever was going on here. Dorian wasn’t drunk enough to let his inhibitions go, but feeling bundled up and second guessing his every move and thought wasn’t his style.

“I am,” he agreed with a nod and looked back down at his drink, “another of those wouldn’t go astray.” Something else to loosen him up. The drinks weren’t poured ridiculously strong there, but enough. One or two more, and he wouldn’t be as careful about what came out of his mouth. Maybe Cullen needed that. It had probably been a while since someone laid it out on the table, so to speak, for him.

Rejection wasn’t Dorian’s favorite thing, though.

He cleared his throat then and let out a soft laugh as he studied Cullen’s face, “Come here,” he prompted, and lifted one jewelry covered hand to fix where some of those curls had half escaped the tie during Cullen’s show. “I can’t send you back up there with this mane all unkempt. What kind of friend would I be?”

\---------------------

It was just the briefest of touches, just the barest rake of those manicured nails against his skin.

It was enough.

It was enough to make Cullen's insides melt and his knees go weak. It was enough to wear down his already shaky resolve. This man, Dorian… he was like a force of nature. Cullen was drawn into his gravity even as he fought to avoid it. Muscles moved with a mind of their own, and he reached for the hand that was tucking errant strands of hair into place. His calloused fingers closed over Dorian's.

_Soft. So soft!_

And for a moment, that was all he was. The want, the need, to throw caution to the wind. To just say fuck it and give in to whatever this was. His heart was thundering in his chest. His eyes drank in everything, cataloging Dorian's features before focusing on those full lips. Maker, he wanted to feel them pressed against his own.

A raucous laugh from somewhere behind them brought him back from the edge. Eyes wide, he gave a nervous chuckle and released Dorian's hand.

“You'd be a friend who wanted to avoid getting someone else's sweat all over him. I'm soaking in it. Not very pleasant.”

\---------------------

There was that feeling like he was whirling around again. It felt like he never knew where he was, like he was spinning with his eyes closed, and when he finally opened them he was facing a different part of the room. It made his stomach do flips. It made his mouth go dry, and now he certainly wanted another drink. This wasn’t fair. Dorian had never, in his life that he could remember, been so utterly _disarmed_ by a man before.

Then a hot hand covered his, and it felt like time stopped. His eyes didn’t widen, despite the shock he felt, though his face did warm a bit. This hot and cold thing was killing him slowly. Dorian didn’t know where he stood from one minute to the next, and it made him feel like he’d been knocking back much stronger drinks. He liked the feeling of Cullen’s hand against his own, though. It was soft and rough at the same time somehow, and warmer than Dorian had ever felt. That would be the lights, he had a feeling, but he could only imagine what they might feel like splayed out across his back.

_He’s looking at you. Look at him._

Then it was gone in an instant, and there was the cold to the hot. It was like being thrown in a pool wearing all his clothes. Dorian let out a matching nervous chuckle and settled yet another easy smile on his face, “You’re a mess,” he teased and sat up a bit more on the stool so he could move his hand again. This time, he caught the small band that held those curls in place, and Dorian worried his lower lip with his teeth as he tugged the band from Cullen’s hair. “Success!” he laughed as he turned to see how the man’s hair fell around his face. Very nice. “Run your fingers through it,” Dorian instructed, “go on.”

\---------------------

No sooner than he managed to narrowly escape Dorian's pull was he drawn back in again. The man was leaning forward now, reaching behind him. The closeness was agony. His scent, spicy and dark, filled Cullen's nose, and he felt himself breathing deeply for want of more. The line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder. The gentle pulse that beat just under the skin of his throat. It was all within maddening reach.

His hands in his hair. Tugging. Gently, but the pull sent a tremor through his body that he fought to hide. Images of those hands buried in his hair, thoughts of tasting that skin, filled his mind. For a moment he was intoxicated, his senses full of nothing but Dorian and the thought of him.

And then it was over. Dorian leaned back as he felt his hair fall free from the band Dorian now held.

_Run your fingers through it._

He'd like to run his fingers through hair. Dark hair that was perfectly styled now, but wouldn't it be glorious to see mussed and free? Wouldn't it be something to just bury his hands in that hair and pull him close again? Wouldn't it just…

_Go on._

Cullen blinked and grabbed the bar to steady himself, hoping it wasn't as obvious as it felt. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he did as he was told, biting his bottom lip as he loosed the curls that had been bound. Watching Dorian watch him.

He was skating the edge of abandon here, and he knew it.

“How's that?” he finally asked, voice a little huskier than he wanted it to be.

\---------------------

Whatever was going on in Cullen’s mind was Dorian’s best guess. Maybe he was riding this weird roller coaster just as much as Dorian was. That would explain the up and down, after all. Still, he did like to see what effect he had on a man. That was where Dorian was comfortable. All the internal drama of what he should or shouldn’t be feeling wasn’t comfortable. This was. The knowledge that he could make Cullen’s breath catch was ground he was well versed in. Dorian _loved_ making people unable to breathe.

“Better,” he affirmed with a nod as he slid the band over his hand and onto his wrist, “but..” Dorian smirked then and took one step inside Cullen’s space so their chests were touching. His hand lifted again to move through Cullen’s curls, pushing and pulling them just so before he smiled again and leaned back. He stayed in the same space, just leaning slightly away, and winked, “that’ll get the groupies going right there.”

\---------------------

Cullen's head was reeling, untethered. He wasn't even sure he was standing on solid ground anymore. His world had been reduced to the line Dorian pressed against his chest. Warm and firm and real and there. That contact was the only thing keeping him grounded. He licked his lips and let them part as he felt fingers tangling in his hair yet again.

Unbelievable.

But it was happening.

Those lips were moving again, and Cullen's brain registered that Dorian was speaking. It sounded far away. From another world. The only thing he knew was that the warmth, the press of Dorian's body against his own had lessened, and he desperately wanted it back. He wanted it back. And more.

_Is this happening?_ He thought numbly, _Maker, I can't stop it. Please. Please let it be happening._

He felt his hands grab, twisting into the soft fabric of Dorian's sweater, just above the man's hips. And he pulled. He pulled him back in to close the tiny space Dorian had made when he leaned away to look at Cullen. He pulled him back in to feel the fullness of that warmth again. He needed it. Whatever arguments he'd had before all seemed foolish and far away, fuzzy as his head was.

The lights in the bar flashed once, and again. It was time to get back on stage. Of course it was.

\---------------------

_Oh_. That was... that was unexpected. A nice pair of hands that knew where to touch were one of Dorian’s favorite things. He moved with how Cullen pulled him, coy expression on his face, and slid one hand up along the other man’s chest. There was the heat. Dorian was versed enough now to know that the cold was coming. Whether that was Cullen running away or making a quick decision to move... it was coming. He just wanted to enjoy this for another minute.

The light flash, like Northern Lights, and Dorian was out in his boxers and nothing else. Maker save him, he was going to end up going home to stand under a cold shower for days at this rate. “Is that your cue?” he asked, leaning up on his toes just a little so they were pressed together that much more, “because I can give you something for luck.”

Bad man. Dorian Pavus had never been, nor would he ever be, a very nice man at all.

He leaned in, turned his head, and pressed the softest ghost of a kiss to one rough cheek. Not his favorite, but he could work with it. “Break a leg, hm?” he murmured in Cullen’s ear.

\---------------------

“Break a leg?” Cullen repeated, tongue thick and dumb in his mouth. His cheek burned where Dorian had kissed him. His chest tingled where his hand had been. Cullen’s mind engaged again, and he took a small step back, shaking his head just slightly to clear it the rest of the way out.

_Just what were you going to do? This won't end well. It can't._

And yet he still felt the way that silly, wonderful mustache had tickled the skin on his cheek. The press and glide of Dorian's body as he moved to plant that kiss.

No, he couldn't argue that he didn't want this man, badly. Not anymore.

But should he give in? He found he didn't know. Did he risk it? Did let Dorian in? Did he want to suffer the eventual heartbreak when Dorian inevitably left after he learned just how low Cullen had sunk?

He didn't have to decide that now. Now, he had to somehow get back on stage and sing for another 45 minutes and collect a check. He cleared his throat then, and replied in a voice that was more or less normal, “Ah. Right. Thank you. I'll… I'll see you after.”

He turned and walked away, unconsciously raising his hand to brush against the spot Dorian had kissed just moments before.

\---------------------

After Cullen left, Dorian sat down and ordered one cocktail and one pint of a beer that was probably much the same as the one Cullen had been drinking. His body was hot, burning from touch, and he was feeling _incredibly_ smug. He drank, gulping the beer easily, and licked his lips before smoothing his mustache. That had changed things. A lot of things. Dorian had some decision he needed to make now.

He thought back to that coffee… date? Had it been a date? Perhaps not. He remembered how ill-at-ease Cullen had been. Nervous. Then he’d relaxed some, just as he had tonight. That relaxation worked for him. Dorian settled back on the barstool, nursing his drink and listening idly while he waited for the band to come back on, and let a lazy and dreamy kind of smile touch his face. It wasn’t unlike the one Sera had caught him with before. He liked Cullen. He did. There was no denying that. He’d been fucking smitten with the man from the moment he saw him in a way Dorian had never been before.

Something wasn’t right, though. Not… well, that wasn’t fair. Cullen had said he’d been married, and Dorian had no idea what the deal with that was. If it was divorce or something else, something that made him skittish, Dorian could understand. It wasn’t the same, but he’d rather lost himself after the last attempt his parents made to send him to “therapy,” and hadn’t wanted anyone too close. Now he just needed, or wanted, to know that Cullen wanted him, too. That little display was pretty concrete, but Dorian liked words as well as actions. Saying the words out loud often made them more real so the actions could follow.

So he’d… see. They would see. They could talk, in person, for some time. Flirt for real, see if there was chemistry, and figure out what their expectations were. Or interests. Or… desires. Whatever. Another few drinks of his beer killed the pint, and Dorian moved to his cocktail. He could keep it loose.

For now.

\---------------------

Cullen took several long, deep breaths to steady himself once he'd entered the prep area backstage. He coughed a bit for that and absently thought, _I need to quit smoking,_ for perhaps the hundredth time that week.

Quitting wasn't something he was good at, if his… actions at the bar were anything to go by. It took all his effort to stay clean in the face of everything. It seemed he didn't have enough willpower to do that and resist the _temptation_ afforded by one Dorian Pavus at the same time.

_Please let this be happening._

Had he really thought that? His face burned and his hands shook, so he balled them into tight fists.

_Get. Your. Shit. Sorted. You have to play in 5 minutes. Worry about Dorian later._

Harding was drinking something. Clear and cold.

“What is that,” he asked her, voice still rough and a bit shaky.

“Just water. I'm parched!” she replied and squeaked as Cullen grabbed the glass from her. He took a long, deep drink of the blessedly cool liquid. For good measure, he poured some into his hand and splashed it on his face.

Bracing. He needed the shock to clear the fog and get his nerves under control. He handed the glass back to a surprised Harding.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Just… tired,” he replied, eyes askance.

And then, taking another deep breath, he walked back out on the stage.

_Just make it through this set. You can do this._

\---------------------

For a good majority of the set Dorian let his mind wander. He heard the music, clapped and smiled, but it was a bit hard to focus. That could have been the booze, but Dorian’s mind kept going back to those few moments before Cullen had walked away. He didn’t want to second guess his actions, but now that he was sitting there by himself he had to wonder. Though Cullen had seemed into it. How could he not be? And Dorian’s skin remembered the feeling of those big hands tangling in his jumper like they were still there.

He took another drink from his cocktail and licked his lips as he watched Cullen onstage. The man was entirely different. With his hair down, too, he was just... well, beautiful. Handsome wasn’t even enough. He was everything Dorian didn’t usually go for, but he _wanted him._ Oh, how he wanted him. Dorian wanted him in a way he never wanted those expensive-suit-wearing dickheads that found him at work functions for a quick fumble in the toilets or at those trendy bars with dimly lit stalls for just that reason. Cullen was different.

So they would have a drink after this. Dorian hollered and clapped loudly with another whistle in there between songs, and when it was over he got to his feet and cheered. Maybe now he could figure out just what the hell it was they were doing. If anything other than being confusing.

\---------------------

Sluggish. That was the only word for how Cullen’s fingers moved across the strings and how his mind worked on stage. He knew the band noticed, from the looks Harding flashed him, but hoped the audience was none the wiser. He played… fine, he just couldn't throw himself into the music as fully as he had before. His thoughts strayed to that moment of action that had pulled Dorian against him, to just how long it had been since he'd let anyone this close.

Finally, they finished the last number. It felt like he'd been up there an age, mechanically playing songs by rote, turning the night's events over and over in his mind all the while.

_What do I do? Why did I let that happen? How can I stop it?_

_Do I really want to?_

As the band moved backstage, Harding caught him.

“You ok?”

“Yeah. Tired, remember?” he answered.

“So, I know you're tired, but I thought I'd offer… we're playing a third set if you want to stick around?” she grinned, “We can even play some of your sad shit.”

Stay. He could stay! Part of him thought that was the perfect solution. Just play another set, and send Dorian on his way with the promise to see him on Monday at the station. That would work. That would shut this whole operation down. Yes, yes. That's what he was going to do.

“Nah, it's been a long day,” Cullen found himself answering, “I'm due for a drink and some food and some sleep.” He clapped Harding on her shoulder, grabbed his check from the owner, and made his way back out into the bar proper.

His knees felt a bit weak and his heart was thumping in his chest by the time he reached Dorian.

“Hi,” Cullen managed. After a pause, he added, “Look, about earlier…” but he didn't know what it was he really wanted to say. His voice trailed off, brow furrowed.

\---------------------

The end of the set had Dorian draining his drink and casting glances off to the side Cullen had appeared from before. He didn’t want to admit he was antsy. He was antsy to get out of the bar and walk a bit and maybe have the opportunity to talk where other people weren’t. The flirting was good. The grabbing at each other was better, but Dorian was still of sound enough mind to recognize the fact that while just slipping off to one of their places for the night was certainly something they _could_ do, he actually wanted to get to know Cullen beyond what they’d texted about briefly.

“You don’t have to explain,” he answered easily and held the shirt Cullen had handed him before out, “I’m quite the catch, after all.” Dorian smirked then, “You should get your stuff and we’ll get out of here. Unless you’d like to find a booth or something to sit in for us to have those free drinks? Otherwise I was thinking something to eat somewhere a bit quieter.”

\---------------------

_Get my stuff?_

His face fell for a moment as he realized he'd left something on stage. His mind had been so preoccupied with Dorian and what he should do about that whole situation that he'd left the single most important thing in his life behind, forgotten on stage. Why had he even put it back in the stand?

“Oh, shit!” he slapped his forehead in exasperation, “my guitar!”

That broke the funk enough that he laughed at himself and felt a bit more able to speak to the man patiently waiting for an answer in front of him.

“Maker, let's get out of here. Too many people, too much noise, I'm starving, and Harding's about to play a set of the loudest, sappiest pop you've ever heard.”

He got the barkeep’s attention, pointing to Dorian and yelling over the din, “Hey, he's with me, ok?”

When the barkeep nodded, Cullen turned to Dorian, “I'll meet you outside?”

\---------------------

Well, this was amusing. Dorian couldn’t help the way the edges of his lips were trying to turn upward into a grin for how Cullen behaved. He actually slapped himself on the forehead. Dorian had never seen such a thing happen seriously before. “Outside,” he agreed with a nod and then a laugh as he turned to head for the door. At least Cullen had agreed. That was something. He’d half expected the man to say no.

The air outside was cold and quite the opposite of where they’d just been. Dorian hated the cold. The heavy jumper he wore at least helped insulate him, though the rips in his jeans let more wind in than he liked. Still, it was less stuffy, and he appreciated that. He could actually feel his head clear a bit and he sucked in a cool, though a bit polluted with car exhaust, breath. It would do. He pulled out his phone while he waited for Cullen and flipped through the pictures he’d taken. They weren’t that great, considering the lighting and how smoky it was inside, but there were a few good ones in there. Good. Cullen deserved as much.

That said, he quickly cast a glance toward the door to see if the other man was coming before firing off one of the pictures to Sera. He waited for it to send completely before following it up.

_[Dorian (12:09AM)]: What do u think? Worth the dopey grin?_

Almost immediately, he got one back.

_[Sera (12:10AM)]: hes prettier than u :p_

_[Sera (12:10AM)] widdle says ud make cute cupple_

That made him chuckle and he tucked his phone back in his pocket before he picked up Cullen’s shirt from where it was still slung over his shoulder. The scent of that cologne or deodorant was starting to get distracting, and it had Dorian wondering what it might be like to wake up with the smell of that in his bed come the morning. 

\---------------------

Cullen grabbed his guitar, still incredulous that he'd just left it there, slung it over his shoulder and offered Harding a sheepish look and a wave as answer to her raised eyebrow. He slowed a bit as he made his way to the door. He'd just blurted out that he wanted to go somewhere quieter with Dorian. It was the truth, but was it wisest course of action after his little stunt earlier?

_Fuck it,_ Cullen thought. He'd exhausted himself all night with the questions and the anxiety. He was tired and hungry and, to tell the truth, looking forward to not eating shit takeout by himself while wondering if Samson and Maddox would come home or call him to get them from whatever rathole they'd loaded up in.

He would instead eat shit diner food from the 24-hour place down the street with a very singular man. A man he wanted to get to know better. In many ways.

Plus, the diner had wide tables and bright lights. Nothing could happen, right? Just some food and maybe he could learn more about Dorian. Maybe he that would help him decide if he was ready for… whatever this was.

Maybe.

The cold blasted through him as he opened the door wearing only a sweat-soaked t-shirt. His teeth immediately began chattering.

“Fuck, it's fucking cold,” he complained as he walked over to where Dorian stood, an odd little smile on his face.

\---------------------

“You did leave me in charge of your nonexistent outerwear,” Dorian teased easily and held the shirt out to Cullen again, “which might be dangerous should I ever get it in my head that I like seeing those rippling muscles out for the world to see.” It was like he couldn’t turn the flirtatious suggestion off. Still, he was comfortable with that and if they really were to be friends, he needed to know what Cullen’s comfort level was.

One hand lifted to smooth his mustache then. Dorian felt warm and loose enough after the cocktails that he didn’t so much mind being out in the cooler air so long as he had the heat that seemed to come off Cullen in waves close by. “Would you happen to know somewhere we could grab a bite?” he asked, “I think the only place I’ve eaten around here was an Antivan cafe that’s probably more noisy than the bar.”

\---------------------

_Rippling muscles?_

Cullen could only laugh. Once upon a time, maybe, but now? He cut his eyes askance as he snorted and pushed his guitar into Dorian's hands so he could pull his shirt back on.

“I believe you’re mistaken,” he grumbled, patting the belly he'd cultivated with takeout and junk food, “Tons of bad eating, right here,” he grinned, embarrassed, and added, “Speaking of bad eating, there's a diner that's open all night. It's a short walk… unless you have a car?”

He was more than a little surprised at how easy it was to laugh. After the night he'd had, locked up in his own head, what he wanted and what he thought he needed fighting tooth and nail, it was a welcome change.

He was tired, after all. It was always harder to force something, to exercise will, when he was tired.

“What do you think?” he asked, reaching a hand out to Dorian for his guitar.

\---------------------

Dorian contemplated that hand for a moment before he smirked, shouldered Cullen’s guitar case, and instead wrapped the offered hand in one of his own. It felt like a great paw, if he were to be honest: calloused in the right places, but still soft and just a bit fuzzy on the knuckles. Dorian was a bit weak for that kind of thing, and he smirked. “Lead on,” he prompted, “I’ve had just enough alcohol that an all-night breakfast place actually sounds tempting.”

\---------------------

Cullen stared at the fingers that were beginning to intertwine with his own. Long, elegant fingers decorated with an array of rings that caught the light from the streetlamps and made it somehow magical. Stronger than they looked and a perfect shade of warm caramel.

He felt something click into place then, and his insides warmed, despite the cold. Earlier, earlier had been about want in a smoky, dark bar and a bit of irresponsible abandon. What he felt now was… affection? It had been a while since he'd felt this sort of fluttery warmth, so it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, it was a little more than just want. It was venturing into need.

It was terrifying.

_Drop it drop it let it go drop that hand now!_ His mind screamed at him. _This is dangerous, and you're already in too far. When he knows you, will he still want to take your hand? Do you think he'd want you, really, as you are?_

Cullen set his jaw, closed his eyes against that onslaught, took a breath and strengthened his grip.

_Fuck off,_ he shot back at that horrible voice of doubt. _Just for now, just please fuck off. I can have this one nice moment, even if he runs later._

“It's down this way, just a few blocks,” Cullen said, a bit more clipped than was proper, and began walking down the sidewalk to the diner.

\---------------------

No moves to pull away? Check. No banter about it? Well, they’d get there. Still, Cullen hadn’t pulled away from him. That was something. Dorian smiled then, an easy kind of grin that he wore very well, and fell into step beside Cullen. As they walked, he rubbed his thumb along the side of Cullen’s fingers in what he hoped was a comforting kind of gesture. He was being forward, but hopefully not an asshole about it.

_Testing the waters. Just testing the waters._

Though he knew Cullen couldn’t hear what his mind was saying, he kept repeating it over and over. It kept him grounded and from doing anything too rash for the moment. Just walking beside him and feeling that heat was good enough for now. “I don’t think I can tell you the last time I was in a diner,” he commented, “probably back at school, if I had to guess. Though I was probably off my face enough not to remember.” Grey eyes cast a glance sideways to gauge Cullen’s reaction then, “please tell me it’s not some retro thing with fake chrome everywhere.”

\---------------------

Cullen's concentration focused itself on how it felt to hold someone's hand again, such a small thing, but oddly intimate in its own way. The feeling of palms pressed together, fingers locked. The way Dorian moved his thumb over his fingers was doing things to him that even that little show of fixing his hair in the bar hadn't.

It was gentle, and his heart ached a bit for it. No one had treated him gently in the years since he'd lost his wife in The Accident. That was how his mind thought of it. Such an event deserved capital letters, so it was The Accident that had taken her from him and sent him down the hellspiral he was desperately trying to claw his way out of.

And in all that time, there was no kindness, no gentleness afforded him. Yet here it was, being given freely from a most unexpected source. That simple stroke of Dorian's thumb was everything to him in that moment. Cullen felt a lump rising in his throat and was horrified at the water rising in his eyes. He rubbed at them roughly with his free hand and told himself to just breathe.

_Just breathe and, dear Maker, don't you dare cry._

He really was tired, to let something so small move him so much. Dorian was saying something. He only caught the last few words, lost as he was in thought.

“I'm sorry, what about chrome?” he asked, not caring for the shake in his voice.

\---------------------

Dorian blinked. He hadn’t expected to hear that shake in Cullen’s voice, nor did he expect to see the other man’s eyes shining like that. Had he done something wrong? Maker, they’d hardly said twenty words to each other. “Nothing important,” he answered with a small smile, “are you… alright?” It was maybe in poor taste to ask, but he wanted it to at least be out there. “You don’t have to answer, of course,” Dorian went on, “I just wanted to ask.”

\---------------------

That little smile, the concern in his voice, they made the ache worse. For one fevered moment, Cullen saw himself falling into this man's arms and just unloading completely, telling him every awful thing he'd done, about all the murky, depressing trappings of his life. He wanted to get it out. It was poison, and he wanted it gone, damn the consequences.

He just wanted to be held and told that everything was ok. That it would get better.

It was a dream, though. Dorian barely knew him, he wouldn't do that for Cullen. It was unfair to expect anything from him now. Likely, he'd be horrified. But maybe if he took it slowly. Maybe if he didn't let it out all at once, Dorian could be the one to tell him it was alright.

He could hope. For now, that's all he had.

Cullen pushed the ache away and smiled back, slow and still a little sad, as he replied, “Outside of being tired and hungry, I'm fine. We're close. See, it's just there.”

\---------------------

He watched Cullen’s face for a little longer than he might have normally. Dorian was an excellent judge of character. No, that was a lie. He could read people well enough and liked to believe he was an excellent judge of character. With Cullen, it seemed like the man had been through a bit of hell. What little he knew of the man supported as much, and he squeezed the hand wrapped in his own just a little tighter. “Food would be good,” he agreed, “though you look like you could sleep for a week, hungry or not.”

Pointing out flaws to people was never polite. Dorian had been taught that plenty as a child. He’d been observant, but also had a bit of a mean streak when he wanted to. Despite the manners that had been all but beaten into him, sometimes his mouth got away from him. “If I had roommates like yours, I’d probably deserve a week’s sleep too,” he went on before he sighed, “that was a bit rude of me. I… you look like you could use a break, is what I’m trying to say and failing at.”

\---------------------

What a strange night this had been. Cullen had gone from denying that there was anything but friendship there to nearly losing control in the bar - hell, he _had_ lost control - to wanting to bare his soul to the man holding his hand within the span of three hours. His head was spinning a bit, and that strange, giddy energy that comes with exhaustion bubbled up inside him.

He barked a laugh.

Dorian was apologizing to him. To him. For telling the damn truth. He looked so serious. So repentant. It tickled him.

“A week? I could use a year of sleep and still be a nasty piece of work when you wake me up in the morning,” he said, stopping his walk to look at Dorian properly, voice lowering, growing more somber, “But… yes. I could use a break. I could use a lot more than a break. And not just from the asshole roommates. From... well, a great deal more than I'm sure you care to hear about. At least on an empty stomach.”

\---------------------

That was probably the most sincere thing Dorian had seen in a long time. Those amber eyes looked pained and tired, rimmed red now, and there was no hiding whatever was there. Now, he’d never promised to be any kind of good listener, of course, but Dorian had been known to try. He knew what it was like to be emotionally exhausted, and saw himself not very long ago written in Cullen’s expression. Maybe that hot and cold was a symptom, which would make sense.

“Food first,” he agreed and lifted the hand that wasn’t holding Cullen’s to run along the other man’s arm, “I think maybe this is where we talk about more than the rain.” Something in him wanted to be kind to this man. He wanted to test the waters and flirt and be just _filthy_ of course, but he didn’t forget that feeling he’d had the first time he saw Cullen. Despite the fact that he was incredibly bad and selfish and everything else, he did want to do more. Something more. “Or we can not talk,” he went on, “I’ve heard that sometimes works just as well. Though I’ve never found it to be particularly helpful.”

\---------------------

There it was again. That gentleness. The ache returned. The need to share his load with someone who wouldn't snort and call it a pity party. The need to get that poison out.

Dorian was literally asking him to do that, in his way.

_It's too much. It's far too much. He doesn't know what he's asking for, not really._

But he was asking. He was asking and Maker, that was enough for now. Cullen's jaw worked for a moment, feeling Dorian's hand brush the length of his arm. His muscles shook a bit for want of just being held.

_Just take a step and wrap your arms around him. Just one little step. He is warm and you are so cold._

That was more than he trusted himself to do, yet his feet still shuffled forward. He still closed that small distance as he squeezed Dorian's hand. He couldn't wrap his arms around him, couldn't let go completely. Not yet. So, he rested his weary, too-heavy head on Dorian's shoulder. Just that. It was all he could do without losing himself entirely, but it was enough. He breathed the man in, and felt his heart calm for a bit.

“Thank you. I'd like that. To talk.” He breathed into the soft fibers of Dorian's sweater. “If you'll listen.”

\---------------------

Both of Dorian’s eyebrows rose, though he didn’t say anything. This was altogether not at all what he’d expected from tonight. Everything that had happened from the moment he’d walked into the bar had been a surprise, though not anything bad, and this? That was not at all what Dorian had expected when they’d made the plan to leave for food or even another drink. He was floored, like actually speechless for how Cullen rested his head against his shoulder. No man had ever done that, not ever, and as they shared that close space Dorian just took a moment to take it all in.

_If you’ll listen._

No one said anything like that without having been shot down before. Dorian knew that well enough. He let out a soft chuckle then as a small smile touched his lips. It wasn’t even a matter of decision. “Of course I will,” Dorian agreed as he slid the hand that had been rubbing against Cullen’s arm up and to run through those big, soft curls. They were, as he’d realized earlier, as wonderful to touch as they looked. “It’s alright, hm?” he offered.

\---------------------

Cullen's eyes opened wide in shock and a strange, twisting sort of relief.

_It's alright. It's alright. It's alright._

Those words - the very ones he needed to hear - echoed in Cullen's battered mind. Salve to soothe his tattered soul, they were soft warmth against the sharp cold that threatened to overwhelm him most days.

Gentle fingers stroked his hair tenderly, and Cullen felt another wave wash over him. It was different than before, in the bar. That had been physical, electric, sudden and intoxicating. This was no less intoxicating, but it was a slow movement, a spreading warmth that melted him from the inside out. It expanded and expanded again until it filled him.

_Maker, how could I ask for more than this?_ He thought as that lump rose again in his throat. In a single heartbeat, he realized that he'd been floating through life numbly, making efforts to be better, yes, but mostly going through the motions listlessly, hating himself all the while. Those words, this closeness, _Dorian_ … he felt himself waking up in response to all of these things, stretching areas of him that had become stiff with disuse. Worth. Hope. Connection.

He was powerless to stop the tear that fell, running in a jagged river down his stubbled cheek. He didn't even try.

He dropped Dorian's hand as his arms moved of their own accord. He did wrap them around the man then, curling around his waist under the guitar that Dorian still carried, gripping his sweater for dear life and holding on tight until that emotion, that wave of warmth, finally broke over the shoreline.

He'd be embarrassed later. For now… for now this embrace under the spotlight afforded by the yellow light of the streetlamp above was what he needed.

\---------------------

Dorian kept that hand in Cullen’s hair, and let the one that he’d let go one move to wind around his waist. This was perhaps the first time he’d ever had anyone he was interested in get so emotional… and a bit out of nowhere, but Dorian could see that exhaustion in Cullen’s face. The man wore it like he didn’t wear a jacket in the cold weather. Clearly something, now that he was actually thinking beyond wanting to have Cullen in his bed, was adding up to make all this happen. “It’s alright,” Dorian repeated as he raked his fingers through those soft curls and held the slightly bigger man in closer to him, “we can skip the diner, maybe? There’s a place not far from mine that does pretty decent Tevinter fare. I can call it in and it’ll probably meet us at the door.” Home was decidedly more quiet than a diner, despite the hour, and infinitely more comfortable. “We can eat and have a glass of wine on the couch and talk.”

\---------------------

The sound of Dorian's voice brought Cullen back. Back from that sea that was threatening to engulf him. He was suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must seem to Dorian. A grown man getting so emotional over… what? Dorian didn't have any way of knowing what was boiling just under the surface, after all.

He felt his face flush hot as he pulled away from Dorian, breaking the hold slowly. Reluctantly.

Cullen rubbed his face then, hoping the gesture looked more like he was trying to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes than wiping a tear away. It wouldn't do to scare Dorian away with this…

“Maker, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired.”

The bright lights of the diner had seemed like the best idea not too long ago, when he was fighting to keep his distance from the man before him. Now, though, he was getting a headache just thinking about them.

Still. Dorian's home? His couch?

_You let this go too far now._

_But I want to._

And he did. He felt a connection for the first time in forever, and he didn't want to lose hold of it so soon. He hesitated before continuing.

“I… wouldn't want to impose…”

\---------------------

Though Cullen had moved away from him, Dorian couldn’t help but take that half step closer and rub both hands along the man’s arms. He looked exhausted in a way Dorian hadn’t seen in a long time. That wasn’t just not sleeping, not really, that was tired of _life_ and that was an awful feeling. He’d flirted with it briefly a while ago, though not to this extent, and the thought of someone as kind as Cullen feeling that way made him feel a little sick. No one deserved that. “It’s hardly imposing,” he promised and squeezed the other man’s arm before moving to the edge of sidewalk and lifting his arm to hail a cab, “we can try the diner again another time.”

While he waited for a cab to stop he turned to look back at Cullen and offered him his hand again. Maybe he wouldn’t take it, but Dorian rather liked the feeling of that great, warm paw wrapped around his own. It was nice. “You’ll have to tell me what you don’t like to eat, though,” he went on, “vegetarian or... I suppose, are you one for anything spicy? I’d hate to destroy your sinuses after such a great show.”

\---------------------

_You shouldn't._

Dorian wasn't running. He was… he was trying to take care of him.

He remembered thinking earlier that he might just be a side project for Dorian. A rich guy out slumming for fun. He bristled internally at just how unfair, how unkind that thought had been. Cullen had had his share of one night stands. When he still used regularly, he'd done things he wasn't proud of. This didn't feel like that. Dorian wasn't slumming.

Dorian _was_ holding his hand out for him. Trying to pull him out of whatever dark place he'd gone to. The man didn't know the extent of it, but Cullen could see he was trying.

_Don't trust him. He'll hurt you like everyone else and then it's back to the blue and then where will you be? You shouldn't._

But he did. He felt like he was reaching out across an abyss, and it scared him, but reach out he did.

Ringed fingers curled around his own, soft and warm again, and the terror of that abyss quieted.

He breathed deeply.

“Definitely not vegetarian,” he managed a smile, “But spicy I can do.”

\---------------------

It took a bit for a cab to slow, but Dorian pulled open the door and climbed in. As they settled, Dorian scooted over just a bit, closing the small distance of the middle seat, so their thighs were touching. It wasn’t a lot of contact, but since his hands were busy on his phone it would have to do.

Dorian gave the driver his address as he flicked through his phone, then put it to his ear and took Cullen’s hand in his own. The back seat was a bit cramped with them both and Cullen’s guitar, but definitely nice. The driver had the heat on, which was definitely a step up, but the warmth Dorian felt came more from the hand he was holding and the body he was pressed against. He ordered the food without a second thought, rambling off a list of things, and when he hung up he looked back at Cullen, “It should just about meet us there,” he offered and smiled a little, “easy.”

\---------------------

“Nice. Thanks for ordering. I'll try not to worry about whatever it is you're feeding me.”

Cullen smiled then, a little haggard, a lot sleepy, but it was genuine. Close quarters usually made him panicky and short of breath, but this cramped backseat didn't bother him. It didn't bother him at all. The warmth was nice. The hand he was holding was nicer. After the mental acrobatics of the evening, he felt drained, so he was content to just sit, listening to the sound of the road and focusing on the feeling of contact where he pressed against Dorian.

He'd heard somewhere in another life that humans needed contact, touch, from other humans to be happy and healthy. It's why babies wanted to be held. It's why adults embraced. At the time, he'd laughed, but now, having gone so long without any real connection to anyone, he was starting to believe. The demons weren't gone, but they'd quieted a great deal here in the backseat of this cab.

He idly wondered how far it was to Dorian's as he ran his thumb over the man's fingers. He liked the feel of that skin under the rough pad of his thumb. So different from his own, as different from him as Dorian himself was, and he found the contrast… pretty.

Mind filled with visions of caramel hands and skin, body warmed by the car’s heater and the contact between him and Dorian, Cullen found himself dozing off. He fought it at first, but it was a losing battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is part two of this here three-part arc. 
> 
> Just a reminder that that is a published roleplay, which is why the pov shifts so frequently.


	6. Spotlights [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Cullen learn a little bit more about each other, things get a little bit heated, and good nights are said.

The trip took a while, fifteen minutes with the bustling late-night traffic on a weekend, but when the cab pulled up in front of Dorian’s building, he smiled and paid the driver with a bill from his wallet before he turned to squeeze Cullen’s hand and shake him lightly, “Hey,” he prompted, “we’re here.” There was something incredibly endearing about that relaxed look on Cullen’s face, tired though it was. Dorian liked it. Even with the dark circles and pale skin, Cullen looked... less weighed down, even if it was for a moment.

He opened the door, letting out that warmth, and tugged at Cullen’s arm as he slung the guitar case back over his shoulder. “Come on,” he chuckled, “the couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than a cab, trust me.”

\---------------------

“Believe me, I do,” Cullen snorted as he shook his head to clear away the sleepy sluggishness, “Didn't mean to doze. Sorry for that.”

Awake now out in the cold again, Cullen allowed Dorian to pull him toward the building. He took in his surroundings. Yes, he and Dorian were quite different. His stomach did a nervous little flip. He recognized this area, had actually lived near it once upon a time, and he knew how much one of these units sold for. They lived in very different worlds.

_Why is he bothering with me?_

He cleared his throat a bit nervously. “Nice neighborhood,” he offered, feeling like he should say something.

\---------------------

As he pulled out his keys, Dorian chuckled to himself, “It’s alright,” he agreed, opening the main door so they could go inside and head up to his floor, “mostly marrieds with kids now. I guess the young professional set is starting to settle down now.” He shrugged then and squeezed Cullen’s hand before he made for the side set of stairs, “I’m only up one floor so it’s not that big of a hike.”

He should have been more nervous. He should have felt a bit weirder about asking Cullen to come over for, realistically, dinner and a drink. Dorian knew that with any other guy he’d ever met what that was actually code for. They’d have half a glass of wine while they waited on the food to be delivered (so as to not be interrupted), and abandon it in favor of the couch or bed for a few hours. Leftovers heated up reasonably well, after all. This? This didn’t feel like that.

\---------------------

Cullen followed Dorian into his apartment and tried very hard to at least act like he didn't feel like a fish out of water. He was almost entirely sure it wasn't convincing. Dorian's home was very…. well, very Dorian. Put together. Stylish. All clean lines and modern aesthetic and art. He really should have expected it.

As Dorian led Cullen further in, he couldn't help but compare it to his own… space. Home didn't seem like the right word for the futon he slept on in Samson's tiny apartment. In his mind, the gulf that separated him from Dorian just grew a little larger. He shook his head and tried to dispel that thought. He was here. He was invited, for whatever reason, presumably because Dorian wanted to learn more about him. And well, he wanted to learn more about Dorian. Maybe then their differences wouldn't seem so large.

_Art_. He liked art. Of course he did, that's what he did for a living, after all. But what kind of art? What does Dorian like surrounding him at the end of the day when he's himself? It was all around him, little clues to who this man really was. Pieces to the puzzle.

He could breathe then, a bit more steady when he looked at it like that.

“This is a great space. Take your work home with you, I see,” he said.

\---------------------

Once inside, Dorian chuckled a little and tossed his keys in a small bowl on the countertop. Most of the flat surfaces were covered in various paper: mail, magazines, handwritten notes. Dorian had never been very good at picking up that kind of thing, instead just leaving it to pile up. A lot of junk mail, things he subscribed to for work, ended up coming back with him, and very rarely did they go back to the office. “When I can,” he affirmed with a nod as he slid out of his shoes and gestured to the couch that _should_ have been at home in a minimalist style. Thankfully, it was a lot more comfortable than its clean lines showed.

“I don’t have any beer in at the moment,” he offered from the kitchen, “but there’s wine or I can maybe mix us up a cocktail that’s not too complicated. Other than that, it’s water or…” Dorian pulled out a jug, “pineapple and guava. If that’s your kind of thing.” There was the want to rush and tidy up so that maybe he seemed a bit less scattered, but the damage was done now. Hopefully, Cullen could forgive the papers on the tables, wine glasses in and next to the sink and the veritable mess in both his bedroom and the bathroom from when he’d been getting ready before.

\---------------------

Something about the speed with which Dorian was speaking and his short, jerky movements spoke to Cullen. It wasn't overstated, not incredibly obvious, but Cullen spent enough of his time feeling anxious himself that he picked up on it.

Nerves. Could it be that Dorian was actually nervous now?

That thought immediately put him at ease. Well, at ease for Cullen. He was more comfortable amongst the sleek furnishings and signs of affluence, at any rate. Cullen grinned and wrinkled his nose, “Pineapple and _guava_?” he snorted, “No thanks, not for me.” He thought for a moment - _I bet he has good wine_ \- and added, “any of that wine white… or are you a red sort of guy?”

\---------------------

He smiled for that and tucked the juice back in the fridge before grabbing out another glass bottle, “White, I can do,” Dorian answered, and fished down two glasses from the cabinet so he could pour them each one. Wine was good. He wasn’t feeling the beer and two cocktails from before so much now, so something to loosen him up was probably a good thing.

As he came closer, Dorian noted the pile of magazines on the coffee table. Thankfully, none of them were too embarrassing. He set down a glass each, and was just about to sit, when a buzz from downstairs made him jump a little. “Maker,” he hissed as he pressed a hand against his chest and started to laugh, “I know it’s to get your attention but I swear that nearly gives me a heart attack every time.”

\---------------------

Cullen blinked at Dorian's reaction and laughed along with him. That little jump, that was real. That was Dorian. He seemed less like the image of the smartly dressed man who brought him coffee out of pity and more like… well, just a person. Regardless of his choice in clothing or words or furnishings… just a man like him. It was strangely comforting.

It was also damn cute, if Cullen was being honest, and his insides did another little flip. Part of him was still panicking, somewhere in the back of his mind, crying out that he stop this before it went too far. Before he got hurt. But that part was smaller now, quieter. With time, maybe it would finally just shut the fuck up. He was willing to try.

He moved to get up. “Need any help?”

\---------------------

A quick buzz to let the guy up and exchange of money later saw Dorian rifling through the rather large bag stuffed with containers. He’d eat on this for a few days, probably. It cost too much to get food out to not get enough to last a while. Still he smiled at Cullen and nodded toward the kitchen, “There’s plates in the cabinet by the sink,” he answered as he cleared a space on the bench and started to pull out the food, “and silverware in the drawer, provided we didn’t get any plastic.”

A smile had settled itself on Dorian’s features. This felt... normal. Good. Relaxed. Two guys, two _friends,_ getting together to eat. It wasn’t quite a dinner party with six people, but Dorian much preferred to order in than struggle to cook anyway. “I didn’t know what you’d like so I got a bit of everything,” he answered, and started opening the containers to show off thick, spicy smelling curries as well as rice and meat wrapped in grape leaves. Flatbread that smelled of garlic rounded it all out, and Dorian chuckled. It wasn’t the sexiest food to have, by far, but it was restorative in Dorian’s opinion and it looked like Cullen could use it. “Have as much as you want,” he offered as the other man came closer and lifted his hand to his mouth to suck a bit of errant sauce off his thumb.

\---------------------

Cullen found the items they needed quickly. He'd always known his way around a kitchen, he could thank his mom for that. He paused then and took a second to watch Dorian. The man was fussing with containers and laying everything out for them. And if Cullen's eyes focused on that line of skin that showed at Dorian's hip when he bent and stretched out… if his eyes roamed a little too readily over the man's figure... If he took that moment to remember how it felt when he pulled him close in the bar, how close he'd been then to kissing the man… well, who could blame him? No one who'd actually _seen_ Dorian, that's for sure.

He centered himself then, or tried to.

_Stop it, Cullen. Don't make this anything more than it is right now. Slowly. Slowly._

And then the man was sucking something off his thumb and Cullen nearly dropped the plates right there. He cleared his throat as he sat, placing the plates and silverware in front of them. He picked up his glass of wine and took a long, deep drink - very good wine, as he'd suspected.

“Looks… good,” he commented. He was pretty sure he meant the food.

\---------------------

That little throat clear and how Cullen gulped his wine didn’t escape him. A smirk was threatening, which Dorian mostly managed to cover as he leaned his hip against the counter, but he didn’t comment. Between what had happened in the bar and what had happened before they’d caught the cab Dorian wasn’t entirely sure what Cullen wanted this to be. Obviously he wanted _something_ if the way he’d grabbed at Dorian before as well as how he’d pulled him closer was any indication. Perhaps it was confused, or at the very least unsure, which was about on par with what Dorian was feeling, too.

He had a rule: always be sure. Even if all they were sure about was sex, always be sure. Getting too involved when someone else didn’t know what they wanted, or perhaps needed, was a quick ride into trouble. That gave him a bit of clarity, that halo of golden hair and those soft amber eyes aside, and Dorian smoothed at his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. Friends. For now. Besides, Cullen had wanted to talk. Talk was probably important.

“They do alright,” he answered, “I’m sure this is supposed to be where I say it’s not as good as my mother’s, but my mother could have burnt water if she’d tried to boil it. Family recipes weren’t exactly something we _did_.” He was still smiling though, and started shoving serving spoons into the curries and forks into the other sides, “I’m sure you know, but the yogurt’s good to mix in if it’s too hot for you. It’s nice. I just... you know, I like a lot of heat. It always makes me feel better,” Dorian explained. Maker, he was rambling. So he let out a slightly nervous sounding chuckle and rested a hand on Cullen’s arm, “like I said, make yourself at home. It’s good to have someone else around for a while.”

\---------------------

_It's good to be that someone else. It's good to feel welcome._ Cullen thought, smiling at the touch. Four, five hours ago, this whole scene would have seemed implausible at best. When he watched Dorian board his train that afternoon, there was no game plan, no scenario that worked to this outcome. He felt… normal in a way he hadn't in a long time. Dinner with a friend after a gig. He'd done that many times before his life was turned upside down and the demons moved into his head to stay.

But Dorian… he shook up Cullen's world like no other had been able to.

“That's a shame… my mom and dad, they were always working for me and my sisters and brother, but they made sure we did family dinner every Sunday. It was a whole production,” he smiled softly with the memory as he helped himself to a bit of everything Dorian had ordered, “I was the one to help with the cooking. Nothing fancy, mind you, but I do make a mean shepherd's pie.”

_Ah, he probably doesn't even know what that is._

Even if they had it in Tevinter - doubtful - that's not something a well-to-do family would have had. It was one of those things the lower class relied on… something that could be made in abundance on the cheap.

Still, it was delicious, probably because he associated it with family and security and better times. A vision of cooking it for Dorian, sharing a piece of his world with the man and watching his reaction, sprung into his head fully formed. He dismissed it as a foolish idea almost immediately, but not before it had made his smile widen and his face flush a bit.

\---------------------

“Big family then?” Dorian asked with a small smile, “I always wondered what that would be like. You know, holidays around a big table and everyone actually wanting to be around each other?” He chuckled a little to himself and shrugged. The last family meal he could remember, that had included his grandparents on both sides, had been a mostly silent affair with only minimal conversation about Magisterium issues and the state of Dorian’s marriage arrangement. Terrible.

He shook his head to get himself out of that. It wouldn’t do to put himself on that road, not tonight, and the last thing he wanted was to work himself into such a state with anyone around to see. Dorian took a breath, smiled, and turned back to Cullen, “and he cooks as well? Maker help whoever you set those pretty eyes on. They’d have no chance.” He’d heard of shepherd’s pie. Actually, he’d had it in a pub a few times on the recommendation of the waitstaff. Good. Filling. Very Fereldan. “My skills are... well, with a recipe I can usually muddle through, but it’s never as pretty as in the books. Otherwise, I stick to stir fry or whatever’s easiest.”

\---------------------

“I don't think it's so much a talent I have as it's my ability to follow instructions,” Cullen replied, popping one of the grape leaf bundles in his mouth. He had no idea what it was, but he was ravenous and pretty sure it was edible.

But he had noticed the diversion from the discussion of family. Flirting seemed to be both a way of life and a suit of armor for Dorian, so he allowed it without pressing the matter. He didn't care for the pained shadow that had crossed Dorian's face. However momentary, it made him hurt a bit for the man. Family trouble? Maker, and here he'd gone on blathering about family meals. The last thing he wanted to do was cause more pain. He filed the topic away under “taboo,” though he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious. Families were complicated enough and he was broken enough not to think he could offer advice… but he had an ear if Dorian ever needed it.

He pointed to the bottle of wine. “May I?” and topped off both his and Dorian's glasses. The food was delicious, but rich and needed something to cut that spice.

\---------------------

“We can have a seat on the couch, if you want,” Dorian offered as he piled a few of the same grape leaves and garlic flatbread on his plate. He’d always been one to like having a lot of carbs to sop up whatever spicy sauce was left, despite eyerolling as a child that it was impolite. It was delicious, and he didn’t exactly give a shit. He gestured with his chin toward the living room and picked up both plate and glass and smiled, “I eat way too many meals standing in here, and I like to enjoy them sitting when I can.”

Dorian moved them into the living room and settled on the couch with his plate on the coffee table. Anymore, he liked his meals to be an easy kind of situation. Fun, whenever possible, and Dorian smiled over at Cullen as he sipped his wine. “So how long have you been playing there?” he asked, “it occurs to me that I...haven’t asked you much about yourself.”

\---------------------

“I could say the same thing, you know,” Cullen replied, taking a swallow of his wine and trying to get comfortable. He wasn't quite sure how to arrange his arms or legs, or how close or far away he should sit considering their circumstances… or even what their circumstances actually were. There was that ever present voice saying this was dangerous and the way he’d reacted, both in the bar and afterwards, but he couldn’t be sure, not really.

Physical comfort aside, Dorian had turned his attention on him. He'd said he wanted to talk earlier, but that felt like a lifetime ago now. That dark, cold sidewalk and raw vulnerability was years away from this warm living room and wine and delicious food. He felt more awake, a bit stronger… and a bit like maybe he shouldn't go back to that dark place.

It was almost enough that Dorian had said he was willing to listen. He wasn't sure that he should take him up on that though, now that he’d had time to think. He had armor of his own, it seemed.

“Your story is probably more interesting. How long have you been here?”

\---------------------

“I’ve been working at the auction house for three years,” he answered, “living out of Tevinter for... Maker, has it been five years already?” Dorian swept a hand over his face then before he smoothed his mustache. It was a move he did often enough that he didn’t smudge the eyeliner or little bit of eyeshadow he’d put on before he left. “Not too long, but long enough,” he went on and picked up his wine for a drink, “long enough to get settled, anyway.”

That deflection was something he recognized though. Dorian did a lot of that... well, he’d done a lot of that before. There had been a time, believe it or not, where he hadn’t wanted to talk about himself. He’d done a lot of listening in those days and often let others go one while he nodded and pretended to care. “Did you grow up here or are there going to be stories of white picket fences and little league from your childhood?” he asked with a small smile, “because I can see it.”

\---------------------

_Five years. So he came right around the time when… no._

Cullen shut that line of thinking down. That way was heartache and more openness than he was ready for. He watched as Dorian smoothed out his mustache, and the hairband that he still wore - Cullen's hairband - caught his eye. It was inconsequential, but Dorian wearing something of his still softened him, making him a bit fuzzy around the edges.

What the hell? There was nothing for it, anyway. He was eventually going to have to answer questions about himself.

_That's how these things work, isn't it? It's just a normal chat. Keep it light, and we can avoid… all that._

“No, not from here. Most people in this city aren't from it, actually. I’m from Honnleath. Doubt you've heard of it… blink and you'll miss it,” he paused to finish off his glass of wine.

_Good. I can do this._

“No picket fences, I'm afraid, and no little league, but we did play with the neighborhood kids. Mostly soccer. I'm shit with a bat,” a breath and then, “Your turn. Why art history?”

\---------------------

He chewed thoughtfully on one of the grape leaves stuffed with rice and spicy goat (a favorite of his) as he contemplated that. It had been a long time since he’d really had to answer that. In his line of work, with the people he knew, it was just kind of agreed upon. “More history than art,” he replied after a moment, “but I wanted a specialization, and not just more political history, which is what it mostly is. I always liked art quite a bit so it made sense.” Aquinea had been one of the patrons to the art museum not far from where he’d gone to school, so he’d spent more time there than most. Her reasoning was from a social standpoint and less about the love of it, but Dorian had always admired being able to _make_ something. “And it managed to net me a decent job,” he went on, “better than being trapped in an office... er, more than I am already. I do manage to get to do some interesting things every so often, which I wouldn’t if I were an accountant or… a politician, say.”

Grey eyes turned to look back over that handsome face, and Dorian smiled again. It felt a bit less heavy now. Cullen still looked exhausted, surely, but his face didn’t have that same pain as before. That was a nice change. Amazing what some food and somewhere comfortable could do. “I think I would have definitely stuck with the music if I’d had a teacher that looked like you,” he offered, “even though I think we’re probably close in age, but you know what I mean. I’m sure the kids loved you.”

\---------------------

Cullen's jaw worked at that, and he swallowed, hard. Bit of a sore spot, that. Still, he could talk around the bad bits. He could do that much.

“You'd have either been the best politician or the worst, I can't decide,” he teased, pulling his knee up on the couch, careful to keep his shoe off the upholstery, and turning to face Dorian a bit more. It made it easier to talk, after all. Had nothing to do with the improved view. Not at all. He leaned forward a bit before he continued.

“There wasn't a question there, but I'll tell you anyway,” Cullen said, rolling the empty wine glass in his hands. The two glasses he had in such a short amount of time were starting to take effect, and everything seemed warmer… softer. The buzz was pleasant.

“I never set out to teach. I wanted to perform… didn't we all?” he chuckled, remembering his dreams of being a rock star or a renowned composer or classical guitarist or all three, “But I started giving lessons to make cash on the side in undergrad and it just clicked. I added Education to my list of majors and there it was,” he smiled at Dorian then, “And yes, I suppose most of the kids did enjoy my classes. Though not all. And I doubt it had anything to do with how I look, thank you. I was… I was a good teacher. It was a good time.”

His face fell for a moment, lost in memories. He shook his head. “Back to you. You could have gone anywhere. Why here?”

\---------------------

Dorian couldn’t help but watch how Cullen moved the glass between his hands. He’d rather enjoyed how it felt to have his own hand wrapped in one of those, so to see them moving... doing anything, really, was hard to look away from. There wasn’t a part of Cullen, Dorian suspected, that wasn’t big and warm and comforting to touch. Now if only he could shimmy his way between those hands and feel them somewhere, too. _Easy. Just talking, remember?_

When he finished off his glass, he got to his feet and clapped a hand on Cullen’s shoulder as he rounded the back of the couch. Dorian fetched the bottle, poured them each another glass, and settled back in, “Do you want the answer I tell everyone or do you want the one I gave my therapist?” he asked with a slight self-depreciative chuckle, “the job was a fluke. I applied kind of in a rush because I wanted to get away, and Josephine happened to like my background. It’s a prestigious arthouse to work for, impressive, and conveniently many hours away from family. They wouldn’t be caught dead south of the Waking Sea, so it all works out for everyone.”

\---------------------

_Therapist?_

Cullen's eyebrows knit together in concern as he stared down at the drink Dorian had poured for him. Part of him wanted to respect the man's privacy and let that go without remark, but another part, the part of him that was broken, was reaching out to the man sitting next to him like a kindred spirit. It wanted to know how and why and what and are we the same? It wanted to know if he could help. Not that he really could have. Cullen was hardly qualified, even if he weren't so fucked up himself. He knew that.

It didn't stop him from wanting to try.

“What did you give your therapist?”

\---------------------

Usually, most people took that for a joke. It got a laugh, here and there, but this was the first time since... well, since he’d actually had to tell Josephine and Leliana that he needed days off for some sessions that someone had actually asked. “Oh, just…” he shook his head, “like I said, that here is far away from there. Not a lot of people understand the wanting to not be close to family.” Now was time to busy himself with another sip of wine and some of the bread sopped in spicy sauce.

When he finished, Dorian shrugged, “most people aren’t actually looking for an answer. New job, moved, done. That kind of thing.” He smoothed his mustache again, a nervous habit, and cleared his throat. “And I’m sure you were a great teacher,” he went on, “moves like what you’ve got? I bet you did a really good job. Fostering all that talent and everything when they’re young takes a lot of effort. So I’m told.”

\---------------------

Diversion. He'd made Dorian uncomfortable. Of course he had, one doesn't just ask about a new friend's therapy sessions right off the bat. Still, the fact that Dorian was brave enough to seek help… Cullen had tried therapy once, at the community center. He went to one session, guts twisting in discomfort and shame, and never went back.

In that, too, he was a coward.

Dorian clearly didn't want to talk about it. He shouldn't press it. He was just so damn… proud of him? Could you be proud of someone you didn’t really know?

With all the courage afforded to him by a little over two glasses of wine, he leaned forward, placing his hand over one of Dorian's as his earnest amber eyes studied his face for a heartbeat.

“Look, it’s good… that you go. It can be… hard.”

He coughed then and leaned back, breaking contact. He just… he didn't want Dorian to feel alone. Cullen knew that feeling well enough to know its misery.

He took another drink then and added, “And I was an amazing teacher. I fostered the hell out of those kids.”

\---------------------

A blush that he couldn’t quite stop filled his face, and Dorian let out a few breaths that were something between pants and laughter. Had he actually just admitted to going to therapy to someone he hardly knew? Had he _actually_ done that? What was _wrong_ with him? Too much wine, maybe, on top of what he’d had before. Something. Anything to justify why he would have ever said anything about it. “You should, um…” he began and moved the fingers of the hand Cullen had his resting over so they linked together a bit, “you should go back to it, maybe? I keep hearing about how kids don’t get anything but tests and all the arts funding keeps getting cut, but... you should do it again.”

_Now’s really not the time to be giving life advice. Have you lost your damn mind, Pavus?_

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized quickly and shook his head, “that’s not any of my business.” The grip on Cullen’s fingers tightened, a silent plea that he wouldn’t let go or... move away or something. “I get a bit stupid when I drink,” Dorian explained, “my mouth gets ahead of me. I didn’t mean to... you know, comment on anything.”

\---------------------

Cullen's mind filled with several thoughts all at once.

_Too far. That was too much. Look at him. You knew he didn't want to talk about it. Good job, Rutherford. A+, stellar performance._

Followed by,

_Go back to it? Back to what? There's nothing there anymore. I have nothing._

And then,

_Why are you even here?_

Panic threatened, and he froze, taking deep breaths. He fought to take control again, to get back to that comfortable place he had just been in, but it was gone, destroyed when he reached out too soon.

Then he felt Dorian's grip tighten. That physicality grounded him, keeping his thoughts from spiraling further out of control. He squeezed back to hold onto that anchor until his heart and head calmed.

Finally he managed, “I can't. I can't go back.” His voice was dull, his eyes downcast. He waited for the inevitable question.

\---------------------

That squeeze to his hand was definitely something. Still, Dorian didn’t miss the way the other man’s voice dropped like that. They weren’t sharing much, but from what Cullen had mentioned in their message conversations, and now this, Dorian could make some assumptions. None of them were particularly sunny either, and that just felt... awful. “I get that,” he answered and squeezed that hand in kind, “who knows? Maybe it’s time for something new?”

That was every cliché in every sort of Chicken Soup for the Soul book, but he didn’t have much to offer. That said, Cullen looked a bit like he could use something to soothe his soul a little. Dorian didn’t have much in the way of that, but he did know what it was like to just want something comforting. “You’ll be alright,” Dorian told him, “I have a feeling about you.”

\---------------------

Cullen's face went blank as he processed that.

_You'll be alright. Alright. Alright._

He wondered if anything would ever really be alright again. He tried, Maker help him, he tried. Every day was a struggle just to get out of bed, to stay clean, to try and make ends meet. He worked so hard. It was so hard. And he did it all alone. For what? What made any of this effort worth it?

He pulled his hand back then and pushed both palms into his eyes, elbows resting on his thighs, folding into himself.

_I could be alright. I could be. It's still in there somewhere. I'm just so… I'm just… it's just so.._

“Lonely,” he said out loud, without even knowing it, “I'm just so lonely.”

\---------------------

There was that same thing from before. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, left them to just bullshit together, but he had. Stupid. Stupid, but perhaps necessary. Dorian licked his lips, studying Cullen for a moment, before he pushed a bit closer and gently rested a hand on Cullen’s back. He didn’t say anything, not yet, and just moved his hand in large circles. Hopefully, it helped. He wanted it to help.

Dorian’s other hand rested on Cullen’s knee and he squeezed a little. From what he remembered, both when he’d just moved to town and those horrible two years before, words didn’t always help. Sometimes, just a presence nearby meant more than any grand speech. So he just... stayed like that and ran his hand over Cullen’s back.

\---------------------

That touch was like a few drops of water on a parched tongue. It was what he needed, but not nearly enough. Cullen's body reached out instinctively for more. His arms wrapped around Dorian, almost fiercely, and pulled the man in. He buried his face in Dorian's neck, breathing him in and out in deep gulps of air. He was looking for an oasis in a desert.

“You shouldn't… you shouldn't bother with me. I'm no good,” he said, even as he held Dorian close.

\---------------------

Somehow, he’d anticipated that Cullen might move like that. Dorian took him into his arms easily and let that same hand keep moving along Cullen’s back while the other twisted back up into those blond curls. He held the man close, took in the feeling of him breathing, and turned to bury his face in that soft hair. There could have been better reasons for them to be so wrapped up on the couch, surely, but Dorian couldn’t even imagine that right now. He didn’t want to.

“Hey,” Dorian prompted and moved his head away for a moment so he could cup Cullen’s cheek to guide him to look upward, “it’s _okay_.” His thumb, which had a single silver band decorating it, smoothed just at Cullen’s cheekbone, “I’ve got you.”

\---------------------

_I've got you._

And he did. In that moment, at least, Cullen knew Dorian had him. He didn't know why. He didn't know for how long. He just knew that right then, at that one focused point in time, Dorian was all he could see. All he could smell. All he could feel.

He had him.

And he was so close. So close and so gentle and so kind and so warm, and Cullen was so tired of fighting, denying himself the very thing he needed in the name of protection. That armor was destroyed, and he was left bare and vulnerable and wanting. His heart thundered in his chest as he gave in, pressing his scarred lips to Dorian's in a desperate kiss. A kiss that told the story of his loneliness, his sadness. A kiss that was like a cry for help.

A kiss that begged for more.

\---------------------

Both eyes widened a bit in surprise, but a kiss was easy to roll with. Dorian tangled his fingers in Cullen’s hair as he pulled them closer, leaned back against the couch, and kissed him back with everything he had. This had been what he’d wanted, after all. That kiss was... well, it took the air from him. It had weight that was completely different from any kiss Dorian had ever had before.

He kissed the other man for a long moment, tasting everything from the food and wine to that part of him that was just so _Cullen_ , before he chuckled a bit and broke the kiss so he could breathe. Dorian smiled, lips pressing soft kisses against those scarred ones, and he leaned his head forward so their foreheads were pressed together. The fingers in that blond hair didn’t stop, the feeling of those curls moving over his skin was too good, and Dorian tipped his head back once he’d caught his breath for another kiss that was almost begging as much as Cullen’s had.

\---------------------

More. More and more and more. And Dorian was giving it to him, pressing back just as hard as Cullen pushed. After being alone for so long, after drying out on that desert for so many years, this was like a waterfall, just on this side of overwhelming. He was losing himself for want of whatever Dorian would give him. He was losing himself in that taste and that scent and that feeling.

Hands wanted to feel that warmth for themselves, not through the thick fabric of Dorian's sweater. They wanted to touch skin and hair. They wanted to grab and hold and _feel_. One arm snaked up to bury fingers in silky hair, thumb running over the closely cropped hair that ran under the longer pieces. Soft, it was so soft.

It still wasn't enough.

He pressed harder, feeling a groan rumbling up from his chest. Feeling the hand that wasn't twisting in Dorian's hair pulling at the hem of Dorian's sweater, seeking the skin beneath.

_Too much._

_Too much._

_Stop. You've lost control._

Cullen pulled away, wide-eyed and frightened and panting.

“Maker, I'm sorry. I can't… I don't know what I'm doing.”

\---------------------

A look of alarm that immediately turned to concern crossed Dorian’s face, and he shook his head before lifting his hand again to cup Cullen’s cheek, “It’s okay,” he promised, “it’s fine.” He brushed his thumb along that stubbled skin lightly, like he had with the hand at Cullen’s back, and he searched those amber eyes for a long moment. His lips burned a bit for the scratch of facial hair on facial hair, but it was actually nice. It had been a while since he’d done anything like that anyway.

Dorian licked his lips then and sat up a bit, “I’m not... we’re not going to do anything tonight, okay?” he offered, “it’s okay.” It was probably good that Cullen had been the one to stop them though. Had it been him, he worried that maybe the other man might think the wrong thing. “Just, you know, breathe.”

\---------------------

Cullen's body ached for lack of that closeness, but his mind was back in control now. He was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, so he did what Dorian suggested. He breathed, a few deep breaths as he watched Dorian, inspecting his face for any signs of annoyance or anger. He knew he was all over the place. He'd been up and down and everything in between. He couldn't help it, but he also wouldn't have blamed Dorian for being upset or sending him out in the cold to make his way back to Samson's alone.

There were no traces of anger on Dorian’s face. Unbelievably, he looked concerned. Cullen was both relieved and ashamed to see that worry in those shining grey eyes.

He wasn't sure how to proceed. He was a mess - emotions pulling him in a million different directions on top of sheer exhaustion and a half a bottle of wine. The thought of going back to that dingy apartment now made him a bit sick.

Still. After that, what else was there but to tuck his tail between his legs and slink away?

“I should… I mean, I can go now,” he started, voice more than a little shaky, “It's late. You probably want to get to bed soon.”

_There's your out, Dorian. Take it._

\---------------------

“I do, actually,” he agreed, but leaned up and pressed his lips just gently against Cullen’s forehead, “come on.” Dorian moved out from where Cullen was practically sitting in his lap and held his hands out, “we may not be fucking tonight, but you’re not leaving either.” He waggled his fingers then, an invitation like the one before, “please?”

He didn’t want Cullen to leave. Whatever it was he had to go back to: the shitty roommates and whatever else, Dorian couldn’t send him back. Not when the man looked exhausted, and they’d just kissed like _that_. No way. Hopefully Cullen could understand as much. Dorian just... wanted a bit more. Sex? Yes, of course, but not now. The way Cullen had clung to him pretty much proved that would be a Very Bad Idea. Not... yet. Sleep, though? Sleep was an intimate and close thing that Dorian generally didn’t like sharing with other people. That said, there was nothing he wanted more than that strong body pressed against his own until the morning.

“Please stay?”

\---------------------

_Yes or no, Cullen. There are two options. Pick one._

It was insane. Dorian was still taking care of him. Even after all the highs and lows of the evening, even after he pulled away from him, even though they barely knew each other, Dorian was being patient. Kind. Gentle.

It didn't make any sense.

Cullen found there was a third option.

“Why? How can you still want me here?”

\---------------------

Dorian let out the smallest puff of air for that. Answering questions time was... well, it was over for now. So saying, he leaned in and pressed his palm over Cullen’s mouth to keep him from asking more and, presumably, working himself up. “Because I do, alright?” he asked, “same reason why I asked you out, same reason why I invited myself to your show tonight, and the same reason why I asked you to come back here for dinner. I just _do_.”

He searched that handsome face for a long moment, grey eyes locked onto amber, and he lowered his hand so he could brush one of those golden curls away from Cullen’s face, “I _like_ you, and I want you to stay because it’s late and you’re exhausted. And... because I’d really like for you to be here. I can’t explain it past that. Alright?”

\---------------------

Cullen's eyes opened wide at that admission. If he was being honest, part of him had suspected this was more than an attempt at friendship, more than a one-night stand, but he hadn't been sure of anything going through Dorian's mind. This was as concrete an answer as he could have hoped for.

It begged a million more questions, but for now, he was content to let that tingly warmth wash over him again as he looked into Dorian's eyes. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded silently, reached for Dorian's hand, and let the man lead him to the bedroom.

\---------------------

One hand wound around Cullen’s and he led him back to the bedroom. The windows were all covered in thick curtains, ones that would keep the inevitable morning out until they were good and damn well ready, and the colors were mostly black and what looked like a creamy neutral with dark plum bedding. Dorian had always been a sucker for dramatic bedroom furnishings, and this was right up his alley. Black and white paintings and photos covered the walls and on bookshelves that were, like the others, completely stuffed.

On the way out he’d shut the lights off to the main room. The dishes would still be there in the morning, after all, and he flicked on the switch at the wall to light the two small lamps on either side of the bed as opposed to the main light at the ceiling. “I’ve probably got something more comfortable than jeans if you want something to sleep in,” he offered, “whatever’s more comfortable.” Dorian smiled then and leaned forward to kiss at Cullen’s shoulder, “I’d say you should have a shower but you look ready to pass out at it is.”

\---------------------

Cullen nodded and brought a hand up to rub a bleary eye with his palm. Maker take him, he was barely standing. The evening had been draining in every sense of the word - mentally, physically, emotionally. Especially emotionally.

Still, none of that stopped him from eyeballing Dorian's bed with a bit of trepidation. He'd let himself go three times that night. For Andraste's sake, evidence of the last time was still burning on his face. He needed to calm down, and, despite the exceedingly late hour and weary creak in his muscles, a shower sounded perfect for that.

He also wasn't about to climb between those sheets - likely a high thread count and silky soft - wearing the grime of sweat from the show and smoke from the bar. It seemed… rude, and his mother had raised him better than that.

“I'd, um, actually like a quick rinse off, if that's ok. And anything you have,” he said, running his eyes over Dorian's fit frame with a doubtful, if appreciative, expression, “that might fit me, I'd appreciate.”

\---------------------

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed with a nod and moved over to the closet. It took a bit of digging but Dorian pulled out a pair of sweat pants with his undergrad Uni name written down one leg that he held out to Cullen, “these should do. They only ever see the light of day when I’m taking the bins down anymore.” Dorian smiled then and gestured to the bathroom, “towels are in the cabinet and wash rags and everything else but if you need anything let me know, hm?”

This would give him a chance to calm down as well. His pants, regardless of how tight they’d been when he’d put them on before, were tighter now. Some time to breathe before crawling into bed with a man that looked like _that_ was probably a good plan. Dorian could only imagine what he’d look like fresh out of the shower, and _Maker save me_. It was hard not to bite his lip for the thought of it. “There’s soap and everything else in there,” he went on, “but, you know, yell if you need something.”

_Like a hand, perhaps. Or two. Maybe some lips…_

_Damn it, Dorian, stop!_

\---------------------

“Thanks. I'm sure I can manage,” Cullen said with a little lopsided grin, “I have been known to bathe from time to time.”

He entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He took a few seconds to breathe and then looked about. It was a pretty spacious bathroom, unlike his own, which made him feel a bit panicky and claustrophobic with the door closed. There was plenty of room here, though. No claustrophobia tonight on top of everything else.

And Maker, he'd never seen so many bottles and jars and tubes outside of the personal hygiene and haircare section of the grocery store. Nearly every inch of counter space was cluttered with some sort of… something. Cullen wasn't sure exactly what these things were or how they were used, and he gave a throaty little laugh. It fit. It was very Dorian. At least, it fit what little he knew about the man.

_Ok, that's toothpaste. Got one. Pretty sure that thing is a toothbrush. One and a half. Everything else…?_

His eyes landed then on a little row of medicine bottles. Prescriptions. His face drew in concern at the number of them, but he fought his curiosity to read the labels. Out of respect for Dorian, yes, but he also didn't want to know if any of those bottles held something that might be… tempting.

He squeezed his hands a few times, grabbed a big, plush towel and washcloth from the cabinet, and began undressing. Finally, naked as the day he was born, he inspected the shower.

_Maker save me. What am I looking at?_

It was similarly crowded with products Cullen didn't recognize, but that wasn't the problem.

_Fucking minimalist design. How does this damn thing work?_

He fiddled with the faucet for a while, managing to turn it on, but he had no idea how to get hot water OR how to make that water come out of the shower head.

_Shit. I'm too tired for this._

He gave it up, wrapped that big towel around his waist, swallowed his pride, and called out to Dorian.

“Dorian… How does this Maker-forsaken thing work?!”

\---------------------

While Cullen got himself settled, Dorian had changed out of his clothes and into... well, he’d pulled a tank top on so he wasn’t in just his underwear. The last thing he wanted was to give the wrong impression, but Dorian didn’t exactly sleep fully dressed. He was thumbing through his planner, phone in his other hand, and looked up when he heard Cullen’s voice. Ah yes... the shower had been a cause for annoyance since he’d moved in.

There was a trick to it.

He took a breath and got to his feet before going to the door and knocking lightly, “Can I come in?” he asked, “it’s usually easier to just do it.”

\---------------------

Cullen sighed heavily, eyed the jeans that lay in a crumpled pile on the floor, and then looked down at the towel he clutched at his waist. It was so large that it hung down below his knees. More coverage than some of the shorts he wore in the summer.

“Yeah, come on. Fair warning, I'm barely decent.”

\---------------------

Dorian closed his eyes and said just the quickest silent prayer for... something. Decency, maybe. Then he took a breath and opened the door. Grey eyes widened just a little for the sight of... all that skin. All. That. Skin. He stared for maybe just a beat longer than he should have as he took in all that creamy paleness and fought every instinct he had to reach out and touch. Oh, how he wanted to.

“Uh, here,” he offered quickly before clearing his throat.

It only took a moment to flip the stopper on one of the taps and turn the water on so the water came out of the shower head, and Dorian turned the hot water knob a fair amount of times before steam started to come out, “I think they put the whole thing in backwards or something, so you have to kind of keep turning it,” he explained. Anything to not look back at Cullen and probably pull them both under the water together. It had been way too long since he’d shared a shower with someone, after all.

\---------------------

Cullen saw Dorian’s eyes widen as they roamed over his body.

Apparently, he didn't share Cullen's opinion that the towel was plenty large enough. Still, it was a little… flattering the way Dorian seemed to be silenced, if only for a moment. He took a bit of perverse pleasure in it, if he was being honest. It had been a good while since he'd felt attractive, so what harm was there in just enjoying the way Dorian seemed to drink him in for those few moments? 

Dorian turned then, saying something about the faucet as he leaned over the tub.

_oh._  

_OH._

_Maker, where are his pants?!_

It was Cullen's turn to stare, though thankfully Dorian had his back turned.

Didn't he just.

Cullen's breath caught, and he was glad Dorian couldn't see the slack jawed stare he knew was fixed on his features. The man was… beautiful. He knew that already, but this was… something else. Cullen _thought_ those jeans hadn't left much to the imagination, but he'd thought wrong. His eyes focused on Dorian's thighs - dark and muscled in all the right ways and how would it feel to have them wrapped around him and

_Stop that. Do you really want to get all worked up when you're only wearing a towel?_

He could already feel stirrings under that towel. Shit. It'd been so long, it apparently didn't take much these days. He shuffled uncomfortably and stuck one foot out a bit, hoping that would… hide anything going on.

“Ah, there it goes. Thanks,” he replied and winced when he heard his voice crack over the words.

\---------------------

He got back to his feet and smiled, “Yeah, it’s... kind of a pain,” Dorian agreed. It was very hard to focus on Cullen’s face when all he wanted was to take in just how _good_ he looked. The man was handsome, for sure, but to take him in all the way with that hair and just the right amount of muscle on him that made Dorian just…

_He’s naked under that towel. You fixed the water and are currently standing there like you want to make small talk._

“Shit,” he breathed, and let out a chuckle before moving back toward the door, “sorry. Um, I’ll…” Dorian turned and almost smacked his face against the door frame before he took a step back and blushed a little, “I’ll let you get to it.” He closed the door back over and sank back against it when it was shut, hands rubbing over his face.

“Stupid. Stupid,” he muttered as he moved to sit on the bed, “never fail to make yourself look like a dick at least once.”

\---------------------

Well, that was… hilarious. Cullen snorted a bit, trying to be quiet lest Dorian hear and think he was laughing at him. Really, the whole situation, the whole evening, had been some sort of comedy of errors, from the gig right up to this moment. They were stumbling around each other figuratively all night, crashing into each other here and there. It was a bit perfect that one of them had literally crashed into something. Cullen was relieved it wasn't him

“What a night…” he mumbled as he dropped the towel and stepped into the shower. The water was warm, but he liked it hot. Dorian had said something about the fixtures being backwards, so he adjusted the temperature without event this time, and let the water hit his chest. He just stood there for a while, bracing himself against the wall, thinking about the night.

They'd kissed. Well, Cullen had kissed him, but Dorian was eager enough to play along. Normally, that sort of thing would make him happy, but he hadn't been normal for years. Now, he was confused. That question - why - was joined by “what does it mean?” and “what if he just feels sorry for you?” He had nearly had a panic attack right in front of him, after all.

But, someone who just felt sorry for someone didn't usually look at them with such… hunger, did they?

For the second time in ten minutes, Cullen sighed and thought that he was too tired for this. He inspected the bottles on the rack and found one that proclaimed it was a shower gel. That seemed a safe bet, so he finished washing quickly. He left his hair alone and dry. No one wanted to see what it looked like in the morning when he fell asleep with it wet.

He turned the shower off, dried himself with that ridiculously large and plush towel, and pulled Dorian's sweat pants on.

He groaned. He'd hoped sweats would have a good chance of fitting, but even they were a bit snug. Not for the first time, he lamented the damage his diet had done to his waist.

He cast his eyes about for a shirt and saw none but his own, and he'd be damned if he was going to put that on again before he had to.

_He did this on purpose._

Of course he did. Well, he'd already had his show. Hopefully he enjoyed it.

Cullen took a look at himself in the mirror then. A bit haggard. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair curling and frizzing from the humidity. Skin tinged this side of red from the shower.

_Don't I make a pretty picture?_

He rolled his eyes at himself, exhaled quickly, and stepped out into the bedroom.

\---------------------

Those few minutes had been spent trying to calm himself down. Usually, any man that showered at his place was showering for a very specific reason, and while it wasn’t on the cards Dorian couldn’t help but _think_ about it. That pale back was just begging for claw marks, expanse of neck would look _amazing_ covered in lovebites, and Dorian could only imagine what those hips would look like with bruises in the shape of finger marks.

_Andraste, please give me strength. I’m not a good man, but I have to be good tonight._

When Cullen came out, all bare chested and those curls flopped over from the steam, Dorian almost whined. He wasn’t wearing any pants so any... _any_ indication of interest was going to be pretty fucking obvious. Already his body was stirring, hot and close, and he got to his feet to move for the door. _Please don’t be hard. Just...don’t let him see me like that the first night._ It was probably more than a little comical, but Dorian didn’t quite care.

“I, um...I’ll have a shower,” he explained quickly one he’d ducked inside so he could lean just his head and shoulders where Cullen could see, “make yourself comfortable. There’s an extra blanket in the closet if you think you’ll want one.”

\---------------------

Dorian vacated the room so quickly, it took Cullen’s breath away. There was a flash of that dark skin, a strange little hopping gait to the door, a quick word, and he was gone.

The way he moved…

The gears in Cullen's head turned over, sluggish from how tired he was, but moving nonetheless. Realization dawned on his face, and he smirked a bit. He thought he had a good idea what that sudden escape was about. Again, he found that he was pleased with himself for having any kind of effect at all on someone like Dorian. It was an odd feeling, being pleased with himself, and one he quite liked. If he wasn't already pink from the shower, he'd have blushed from it.

He rubbed at the back of his neck then, trying to keep his own thoughts from straying that way. He was tired. He still felt battered from his ups and downs. Normally, he held it together better than that, but normally he wasn't with someone quite like Dorian. He knew sex was a bad idea, he knew he shouldn't. He also knew he was weak, and unsure as to whether he could really stop it once started.

The bed loomed large before him. He was flirting with disaster here.

Still, what was it Dorian had said? “We won't be fucking tonight.” That was blunt; it had shocked Cullen to hear him put it that way. It was a little cold, truth be told, but he understood the intent behind it. Dorian was telling him he wouldn't take advantage. He appreciated that more than he could say.

After a breath, he walked to the side of the bed he assumed wasn't Dorian's - no books on the side table - and crawled in between the sheets. They were, as he expected, impossibly smooth and soft. He tried not to think about what could happen under them if he'd only give in and Dorian was willing.

_Maybe I should sleep on the couch…_

\---------------------

With the door safely shut behind him, Dorian turned and leaned his back against it. This was, without question, a disaster. It was probably a good thing they weren’t going to be having sex, considering what Cullen probably thought after that. Still, he couldn’t quite let go of what the other man looked like, and Dorian sucked his lower lip in between his teeth as his hands itched to pull the door open again so he could practically _jump_ Cullen.

He didn’t. Instead, he whined in a way that was most decidedly _not masculine in the least_ and pushed off the door so he could start the shower. If anything, he needed to get out of the makeup and everything out of his hair before he lay down. Making his pillowcases gross wasn’t high on his list of things to do. So, he’d climbed in under the hot water and quickly washed the eyeliner and eyeshadow from his face. That felt good, and a few quick dunks under the spray washed any lingering oil from his hair. Now... soap: something heady and spicy. He had one that smelled of oranges and cloves that was a favorite and that was quickly lathered up.

Well it was quick until his hands wandered lower. Not that it took very long, but it was mere seconds before Dorian was lost in more than a few sinful thoughts that all revolved around the man that was probably lying in his bed at that very moment. _Maker,_ what a thought. And how many other thoughts he had imagining him.

“Ah, fuck,” he whined softly, _Cullen._

Then he’d dried off, dressed, and pulled open the door to the bedroom. Hopefully... hopefully, Cullen wouldn’t know. His face was pink, which could have been the water, and he’d only mostly gotten himself dry before pulling his clothes back on. Still, he offered Cullen a small smile as he moved in closer and settled himself under the sheets.

\---------------------

_I should go sleep on the couch,_ Cullen thought again as Dorian came out of the bathroom. For just a moment, that lithe body was outlined by the brighter light coming from the bathroom behind him, and Cullen found it hard to breathe.

Then, Dorian flipped off the bathroom light and it somehow got worse. This was Dorian. No makeup. Hair down and wavy from being wet. No affectation. Cullen felt like he was being let in on some sort of secret to be allowed to see the man like this, and it became _impossible_ to breathe. He remained silent as he felt the bed shift under Dorian's weight.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't trust himself to move. He didn't trust himself to speak. He lay there, immobile, worried that the slightest movement would set what he'd tried to start - and then stopped - on the couch earlier in motion over again.

Maker, he wanted this man.

_I should definitely sleep on the couch._

\---------------------

A glance down at Cullen made him smile, though he was still blushing, and Dorian flicked the switch on the lamps that turned them both off. The room was suddenly bathed in darkness, courtesy of the curtains, and the road sounds outside were mostly muted. He liked to sleep like that. It was better than constant car alarms and road crossings beeping, anyway.

He settled down against the mattress, keenly aware of how small the bed felt when there were two in it, and couldn’t help how he swallowed a bit thickly for the wash of heat he felt through him. Cullen was beside him, Dorian could hear him breathing and feel the warmth he was putting out under the covers, and he so wanted to just... curl in closer. Kiss him. _Something._

_Say something. Don’t leave it like this._

Dorian rolled over then, on his side so he was facing Cullen’s direction, and he licked his lips before he spoke. “You okay?” he asked after a long moment, “need...anything?”

\---------------------

“You.”

_FUCK. Fix it._

His mind worked overtime, a monumental effort at this point, to find a way to cover the word he'd been too tired to hold onto.

_“..._ should know that, ah, sometimes I talk in my sleep. I, um… have nightmares.”

It was true, and they were terrible, but he hated how he sounded so small, like a kid. What grown man really worried about things like bad dreams? Another thing Dorian would have to pity him for, for sure, and he hoped he wouldn't have to talk about them, but it was the only thing that came to mind quickly enough to cover that slip.

Regardless of how his body was reacting, his mind and heart were in no state. He barely held it together as it was, had failed entirely tonight. He didn't need more proof that anything more would be a bad idea than that.

Still, the feeling of holding Dorian in his arms and being held in turn was etched in his mind. A part of him that ran deeper than lust reached out for that touch. Maybe he could handle just that much?

He turned to face Dorian, breathing in a new scent he couldn't place, but rather liked. Must have been something from one of those numerous bottles in the man's shower. It warmed him a bit, and he smiled as he ran a hesitant hand down Dorian's arm to find his hand under the sheets. Having found it, he laced his fingers with Dorian’s, content with just that much touch for now.

“I hope I don't wake you.”

\---------------------

The hand was a surprise. The comment about the nightmares? Oddly, not as surprising. Dorian still had them on occasion, when things got bad, so he understood. Whatever Cullen’s issues were, especially after seeing everything tonight, he could have tacked insomnia or nightmares on without a second thought. Regardless, Dorian squeezed that huge, warm hand that wrapped around his own and he smiled in the dark.

“It’s alright if you do,” he replied, “could be worse.”

He squeezed that hand again, his thumb working over the skin of Cullen’s fingers like it had been on the street. It was a gentle kind of touch that was the polar opposite of what they’d done on the couch before. Ironic, maybe, also that Cullen was holding his hand in such a gentle way considering just _what_ Dorian had been doing in the shower. Now, however, wasn’t the time to contemplate that. He liked the feeling of that warm skin against his own, and while he wasn’t much of one to do this without there being other activities first…

Dorian scooted over a little, just enough that he and Cullen were in each other’s space again. He could feel that heat coming off the other man’s skin, and Dorian moved one leg until it wrapped around one of Cullen’s so they were tangled together. Better. Much better.

\---------------------

There it was. That touch he needed. Contact with another human being. The feeling of being grounded. Cullen tensed at first, testing the waters considering the train his thoughts had been on earlier, but he quickly relaxed. This was more like melting than arousal. All that exhaustion from the day piled back on top of him, and just falling into that melting feeling seemed… right. Or at least ok.

Moving naturally, not urged on by a wave of panic or feeling of loneliness this time, he pulled his hand away from Dorian's and wrapped it around the man, pulling him the rest of the way in. Gentle, like that melting feeling. Amber eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to Dorian's forehead through a smile.

“Good night, Dorian.”

\---------------------

_I’ll be damned._

Dorian let himself be pulled in, and he slung one arm around Cullen’s waist. This was a good place to be. He liked the feeling of them being pressed together from chest to stomach with their legs tangled, and the kiss to his forehead was probably the sweetest thing anyone had done for him in... longer than Dorian cared to think about, actually. He let his fingertips run along that pale skin, and Dorian shuffled in that little bit closer so his head was pressed to Cullen’s shoulder.

“Night, Cullen,” he murmured against soft skin and pressed a kiss just inside the divot of the other man’s collarbone. This... he could sleep like this.

\---------------------

Cullen felt himself drifting off, wrapped up in that softness, breathing in Dorian's scent. That slow wave of warmth washed through him again. Pleasant. Soothing.

_It could be alright again. It could be,_ he thought before he dropped off into a dreamless sleep in Dorian's arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling (right?) conclusion of the Spotlights arc. 
> 
> Reminder: This is a published roleplay. Just feel like I need to say that each time so no one is confused.


	7. Do Not Pass Go [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen and Dorian have a quick chat on the platform and Cullen surprises him by asking a favor.

Monday saw Cullen going through his usual routine. He woke up after a fitful night's sleep, showered, grabbed his guitar, and hit the streets to spend his day earning money the only way he could. On the surface, nothing had changed. This was how it had been for months now. Cullen's normal, so to speak.

Beneath that layer of routine, however, he was all stress and nerves. Cullen had spent the weekend agonizing over how he'd acted Friday night, breaking down in front of Dorian once and then again. He could only imagine what the man must think of him. Literally, all he could do was imagine - they hadn't spoken beyond awkward farewells as Cullen crawled into the cab Dorian had called (and insisted on paying for).

He'd tried then to apologize for how unstable he'd acted, for how strange he must have seemed, but Dorian had waved it off with a smile.

A few texts over the weekend, mostly just Dorian making sure Cullen had made it home ok, and that was it. Cullen had no idea what the man was thinking, or where he stood, or what that bizarre night meant.

If it even meant anything.

So, he went about his comfortable routine, playing his songs while he relived Friday night over and over again, both dreading and looking forward to seeing Dorian that afternoon at what he'd taken to calling _their_ station.

Finally, he made it there. He set up - normal - sat down - also normal - and started to play - normal again. But his fingers were a little too shaky and his skin itched with anticipation and, truth be told, fear. Decidedly not normal.

Was that evening pressing on Dorian's mind as much as it pressed on his? What should he do? What should he say?

_Maybe I should just play._

\------

The rest of the weekend had been reasonably quiet. Dorian had been sorely tempted to ask Cullen to stay longer, though he was worried that might have been weird. Cullen had a life and Dorian didn’t want to infringe on that too much. _Too much._ So he’d called Cullen a cab and they’d parted mostly amicably. It was strange. It had felt strange.

So he’d drowned his sorrows a bit on Saturday. Sera had invited him out, which he’d gone willingly, and ended up staying on her couch until well into Sunday afternoon. Maker, he’d been so hungover. Brunch, or by that point a reasonably timed dinner, had hardly touched it and by the time he made it home he hardly thought about his phone.

He’d texted Cullen a bit, here and there, though not like they had been. Cullen had tried to apologize, which Dorian could hardly understand. Clearly the man was struggling and just needed something _good_. He understood that much and refused to let the other man apologize for it. Besides, if Cullen wanted Dorian to be that something then he wasn’t going to complain. Cullen was, despite some of the issues, very good company. When he’d left Dorian _missed_ him.

Come Monday, however, he’d spent most of the day locked in his office wearing sunglasses and wishing he were dead. Just the sound of his phone buzzing against the desk made him groan and he all but buried himself under his jacket until he was allowed to leave. It made him move slowly, a bit sickly, and by the time he got going for the station any worry about seeing Cullen or if it was going to be awkward had completely abandoned him. Actually, he was looking forward to it. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was, but that had never stopped him before. Bad as he felt, a hug would have actually been really nice.

He didn’t get coffee on the way like he usually did, if only because the prospect of putting anything milky in his stomach made him want to actually die. Sunglasses covered his eyes, despite the fact that it was overcast, and as he got to the landing of the platform the familiar guitar sounds jangled a bit chaotically in his sore head. It took a moment for him to rearrange them into something recognizable, and Dorian managed a small smile as he came closer. One hand dug in his pocket for the few spare bills he kept and as he got closer to that handsome man he put them in the case.

Talking. Cullen was playing and Dorian didn’t want to interrupt, so instead he lowered his sunglasses to reveal slightly bloodshot eyes and he smiled. Hopefully that was good enough.

\------

And there he was, right on time, more or less. Cullen’s fingers stumbled over a few notes and he struggled with a verse, but Dorian approached him as usual, tossing money in his case. One day, soon, Cullen would have to tell him to stop that. The night they spent together aside, he bristled at the thought of taking money from a friend.

Then Dorian had smiled, lowering his sunglasses to show red around the grey. Cullen wondered a bit at what that could mean, playing on for a while as he mulled it over. That, at least, gave his mind something to work on other than worrying about what he should do.

An image of Dorian's kitchen resurrected itself. The number of wine glasses, both in and around the sink, came to mind. Suddenly, the red-rimmed eyes made a little more sense. But why would he drink himself into such a state that it still showed Monday evening?

Regret? Did he regret spending time with him? He was there, smiling, so it seemed that wasn't the case. It would be easy enough to avoid Cullen if Dorian had really wanted to.

And yet, the worry remained as Cullen missed a few more notes and bit his lip in frustration, scowling.

\------

One eyebrow cocked for that scowl. “That’s quite the face,” he offered with a small smile before he pushed his glasses back up, “you okay?” Dorian didn’t want to keep Cullen from singing, if that’s what he was going to do, but that was a bit worrisome. They hadn’t chatted much during the day, but that was down to Dorian ignoring everything in favor of downing office coffee and pretending he was too busy to do anything.

\------

_Quite the face?_

Cullen hadn't even realized he was frowning. That wasn't… he didn't want Dorian to think it was because of him. It was, of course, and the effect Cullen's swirling thoughts had on his playing, but he didn't want Dorian to _think_ that.

He rearranged his face quickly into something he hoped was more friendly as he adjusted the ponytail he'd put his hair up in for the day. That mess always got in his face. It was convenient when he needed to hide behind something, but was a nuisance when he played.

Then, picking at his hoodie just for want of having something to do, he returned the smile.

“Oh, I'm fine,” it was a lie, but the bustling platform hardly seemed the right place to discuss… whatever this was, regardless of how much his brain wanted to get answers and analyze, “I hope you had a... good weekend?”

It was a passive probing, but it was probing nonetheless. The number of wine glasses in Dorian’s kitchen was worrisome, and Cullen knew a thing or two about dependency. He may be assuming too much - that may not have even been the explanation for Dorian's state. It didn't feel that way, though, and the last thing he wanted to do was be the trigger that sent Dorian over some edge.

Cullen had been there many times himself. Each time, he felt a soul-burning shame for giving in, and he always promised himself _This is the last hit. I'm really clean after this_. But there always seemed to be _something_. Even small things challenged him on bad days, and their evening together had been… challenging to say the least. He'd be lying if he said his thoughts hadn't strayed to Samson's stash once or twice that weekend, if only to stopper the obsessive worrying he was so prone to - it was a good thing he made the man lock his door when he was away.

\------

“Oh, it was…” Dorian sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead, “well, it was definitely _good_ ,” he answered and smiled again. “Started off great, as you may remember,” he went on, “and then my friend Sera’s girlfriend was having a big congratulatory do because she got a promotion at work. We may have closed down a bar. Or at least completely killed their inventory of fizzy pink wine, which just...ugh, I’m still hungover.” a soft laugh then, and Dorian shook his head. It had been a good time, despite feeling like absolute death after.

There was still a few minutes before his train came, so Dorian slid his bag off his shoulder to let it sit on the ground while they talked. “That’s why I’ve been a bit quiet,” he explained, “looking at a screen make my head feel like it’s about to crack in half.” Not a good excuse, but the truth. “That pink fizzy wine is evil. Absolute evil.”

\------

_Ah, so I did jump to conclusions._

He couldn't help it. Addiction. Dependency. It had been a defining part of his existence for the past five years. He'd assumed for a moment that he saw himself reflected in those bleary red eyes, and flushed with shame for it.

_There's no way he's like you._

Cullen coughed, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment before continuing.

“I… err… don't know that I'd call my behavior a great start to anything, but I'm glad the rest of your weekend was fun,” he cut his eyes back up at Dorian, “Demonic fizzy wine withstanding, of course.”

\------

Dorian cocked an eyebrow for that. He wouldn’t have called anything Cullen had done a behavior either. “Well, I had to find something to occupy my time,” he pointed out, “since I couldn’t completely steal you away for another night. That might have come off a little...rude?” Or desperate. Very desperate. That said, Dorian hated the fact that he felt exceedingly desperate when it came to wanting Cullen around.

While they were out, Sera had demanded to see more pictures and know the details of his and Cullen’s night. Dorian had given the overview, which had both Sera and Dagna all but singing recess rhymes at him. It had been a long time since _that_ happened. “What about you?” he asked after a minute, “another show saturday? Did I miss another great performance?”

\------

He had played Saturday evening. Alone this time, and only for one set. The owner had a variety of people come out on Saturdays, and Cullen was usually the last to go. To chill the room, the owner had said, so people calmed down and were ready to leave. Without the backing of Harding and her band, Cullen’s style by itself was far too moody and bluesy to excite the Saturday night bunch.

He'd spent the whole set searching the crowd, wanting Dorian to be out there amongst them. Knowing there was no way he would be, not after Cullen had been so damn _strange_ , but he looked anyway and tried not to be disappointed when his search proved fruitless.

“Well, you missed a _performance_ , though it was kind of shit. Off. It was just one of those nights, you know?” He didn't know what else to say, so he went back to strumming softly.

\------

That made him chuckle, “I doubt that,” and Dorian pulled his sunglasses off to secure them to the neckline of his shirt, “maybe one day I can request a…” he faltered a bit then and chuckled again, “private performance?” It sounded like he was asking for a lap dance. Great. “You know...you, guitar, not a room full of drunk people?”

\------

_Private performance?_

Cullen's hands stopped working his guitar as one flew to the back of his neck and started working that knot at the base of his skull. Maker, it didn't even _hurt_ right now, it was just a nervous tic, a comfort when he felt flustered. He couldn't help the blush that rose.

He also couldn't help the little grin that formed on his scarred lips as he responded, “As I recall, you _had_ a little show on Friday. More fumbling with a faucet and a lot less guitar playing than you might have in mind, though.”

_Maker, did I really just say that?_

Cullen was playing a dangerous game, flirting with Dorian. Opening himself to a world he'd purposefully cut himself off from, at least until he got his shit sorted. But sometimes, things happened when they happened, regardless of when they _should_.

_You can't always help the timing, can you?_

\------

Despite the fact that Dorian never really knew where he stood with Cullen from one minute to the next, he did love it when the man would flirt with him. He loved the attention. He loved how that already soft voice seemed to shift half an octave lower and it made Dorian’s insides do flips. “A better show would have been that sans towel, but I’ll take what I can get,” he replied easily and winked at the other man, “besides, I can only imagine what it might feel like to have you just singing to _me_.”

That was a dangerous statement, especially considering how Cullen’s eyes had found his at the gig. Dorian still didn’t know if that had been the intent, to make it feel like Cullen was singing for him in that moment, but he would have loved to know what it really felt like. That was what men with guitars did, after all, right? Pluck away at their guitars while their lovers sit just off to the side and enjoy the ambiance? How...romantic. Which it was. It really was. The thought also made his blood run even hotter than it had been.

\------

Yes, this was a very dangerous game, one that Dorian seemed all too eager to play.

But to what end? Those same questions he'd obsessed over all weekend circled Cullen's mind unanswered, the chiefest of them - _why_? What was this smart, funny, _incredibly beautiful_ man doing with him?

He pushed back the feeling of impending doom - because, really how could this end well? - and cut his eyes to either side to make sure no one was in earshot.

“My guitar. No towel. Just me _playing solo_ for you, then?” Cullen replied, voice pitched low as he peered up at Dorian and bit his bottom lip in mock thought, “What an… interesting request.”

_Stop this before you can't. This man could wreck you, and you know it._

\------

“So long as you’re considering it,” Dorian teased, and turned to look over his shoulder as the usual announcement heralded the arrival of the train. Already he could hear the sound of grinding brakes in the distance, and he picked his bag up. “Maybe...we could try for that diner again?” he asked, a more genuine and less flirty smile settled on his features, “nothing like late night breakfast after a…” the smile did turn just the slightest bit more wicked, “ _performance_?”

The train was pulling up in earnest now and Dorian picked up his bag. While he would have loved to stay and wait for the next one, a cool twenty minutes, he really was angling to get home and perhaps settle himself with some hair of the dog. Not anything pink or fizzy, but he did have a rather nice sav blanc that would probably make him feel normal again. “Send me a message when you get home?” Dorian prompted as he shouldered his bag, “so I know you made it alright?”

At that, as the train pulled up and to a stop, Dorian reached out to rest a hand on Cullen’s shoulder so he could squeeze it. It was a simple gesture, something affectionate, and before he could stop himself he bent down and pressed a kiss against the other man’s temple, “I’ll talk to you later.” He had to say it more loudly than he wanted so Cullen could hear over the noise, but hoped the care was still in the words. He could be ridiculously raunchy, sure, but he couldn’t help the fact that he _cared_ for the man. And then he turned and headed for the train before Cullen had a chance to go from that hot to cold.

\------

Amber eyes widened as Cullen felt that kiss, quick but still there. Still a contact, a connection. His stomach fluttered and he breathed a stuttering goodbye he was sure got lost in the shuffle and scuffle and noise of the station.

As he did every day, he watched Dorian go in silence. That was part of his routine now, too. Watching this baffling newcomer with his flirting that drew Cullen in, flirting that was at odds with the peeks of kindness he'd shown Cullen. Normal to watch him board the train. Normal to feel a little colder after he'd left.

_I want to go with him._

That was not normal, not part of his routine. His struggles with himself, his struggles with life be damned, he wanted to go with Dorian wherever he went, if only to bask in his confidence and caring. If only to hold on to that connection.

He wanted to go. And in so acknowledging that thought, legitimizing it, making it _fact_ , he felt himself fall a bit.

_A dangerous game._

\------

So the week had gone on as it usually did. They sent messages during the day, since Dorian’s hangover had managed to clear up, and saw each other in the afternoons. It was all very civilized. Dorian liked the routine, actually. The only difference now, aside from when he didn’t bother with the coffee, was that he’d lean down to kiss Cullen’s temple or those curls or his cheek before he’d leave. It felt right.

He’d even stolen another hair tie and stuck his tongue out as he’d run for the closing train doors. It had been worth it to see that golden hair whipping in the gusts of wind, after all, as well as the look on Cullen’s face. Yes there was still something awkward, something unsettled between them that probably should have been talked about, but Dorian wasn’t about to push. Talking, especially about feelings, wasn’t his forte. That, and he strongly suspected Cullen would run screaming if he tried.

By Thursday, Dorian had settled in with this new routine. He liked that bit of affection, actually. It wasn’t like he was _starved_ for it, but he liked it from _Cullen_. Dorian liked getting in close so he could feel that soft skin or hair under his lips and take in the scent of him. It was embarrassing to admit, but when he’d been feeling so bad he imagined being curled up against that strong body and it made him feel better. He liked the feeling of that solid mass, with just enough padding to be cozy, curled around him. Dorian had all but memorized what it was like to have their legs tangled together and the sound of Cullen’s breathing in his ear. Maybe it was stupid, but it was the first time he’d slept and woken up feeling so...so…

_Safe? Happy? Content?_

Maker, he was a mess.

\------

Cullen’s bruised and bloodied hands shook with adrenaline as he took the phone handed to him. He didn't have to dial. The officer had done that for him, punching in the number of the only person Cullen could have called for help. After a moment, he heard it ringing and prayed that the person on the other end wouldn't pick up.

\-----

The sound of the phone buzzing on the table made Dorian jump. He’d been stretched out, flicking through the channels and contemplating a shower, and immediately frowned. No one called him this late. It was...Maker, it was past ten. No one called, let alone at this hour, unless someone was dead.

_Father? Heart attack maybe? Andraste’s blood, don’t think like that. That’s awful._

On what was probably the fifth ring Dorian picked up it, though he didn’t recognize the number, and answered. “This is Dorian Pavus.”

\------

Cullen swallowed, hard, and felt what little pride he had go right down with it. Dorian had answered after all. He suddenly thought that whatever jail time he was facing would be better than the conversation he was about to have.

But Dorian had answered.

“Dorian? Maker's breath, I'm so sorry. I didn't have anyone else to call. I'm so sorry,” the words tumbled out of his mouth, frenzied and cracked.

\------

“Cullen?” he asked, and pulled the phone away to look at the number again. He still didn’t recognize it. “Are you alright?” The man sounded...Dorian didn’t even know. Not good, in any case.

\------

A deep breath. Another.

“No,” he answered, almost whining. The officer tapped his watch - _you don't have all day, son_ \- and Cullen continued, “There was…” a ragged breath filled the pause.

_I can't tell him like this._

“I've been arrested. I'm so sorry. I hate to ask…” He couldn't finish the question.

\------

Had he _heard righ_ t? Dorian almost had to ask Cullen to repeat himself. Arrested? Cullen. Arrested. The two words sounded foreign in the same sentence. “Where are you?” he found himself asking as he grabbed a pen and paper, “how much did they put the bail to?”

\------

Maker, the immediacy of his response made all this worse somehow.

“I'm down at the precinct on 5th and Adamant,” that part was easy enough. The next was far, far more difficult. He continued in a pitiful tone, guts twisting in shame, “The bail… There's a bondsman that’ll take… shit, Dorian, I'm so sorry… $1500 to guarantee my bail. He'll be here in a bit. If… if you can help. Please don't feel like you have to.”

\------

That was a hefty amount. People didn’t get arrested and that much put down for...nothing, really. Dorian had been in a few wrong place, wrong time things but never like that. still, he looked down at his watch and nodded. Thankfully it wasn’t any later. “Hang tight, okay?” he prompted, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

\------

Cullen handed the phone back to the officer, still shaking and feeling like curling up into a ball and crying.

He'd been slowly gaining confidence, chatting with Dorian at the station like it was the most natural thing in the world. And now? Well now he would know what kind of man he was, wouldn't he?

The officer led him back to the holding cell. It was full of others like him. Others whom life had chewed up and spit out.

 _I fucking belong here_ , he thought, blinking back bitter tears. Best not to show weakness, not here.

It was all so stupid. Violence usually was, but Cullen had snapped when that jeering asshole had grabbed his guitar while he played. Some snotty rich college kid. In another lifetime, he may have taught him in high school. As it was, Cullen's mind had blanked with rage, and before he knew it, he'd been punching that shit-eating grin off the kid’s face.

His guitar was all he had. It was all he had from that time before, and he couldn't let anything happen to it, too. What would be left?

The kid pressed charges. Of course he did, and rightly so. Nothing excused what Cullen had done. Nothing. The judge took hours to decide on bail, had threatened to hold him without it, and then agreed to $10,000. Steep, but Cullen had been there before. It wasn't his first rodeo. He was lucky the bondsman was willing to guarantee his bail.  

He had nothing to do now but wait for Dorian, hating himself for every second he sat in the cell, head in his hands, receding further into himself with every tick of the clock.

\------

This wasn’t the first time he’d been called to bail someone out. Back in Uni, he’d been the one Rilienus called after smashing his car into a tree when he’d been half off his face. That had been a fun one. Despite his penchant for booze, Dorian was never much of one to get into punch ups or (Maker forbid) behind the wheel. No. He’d always been happy to take a cab and go home to sleep it off. His friends? Less so.

Getting the money order was easy enough, and Dorian made it to the station in about forty-five minutes. He’d thrown on decent enough looking clothes, since it always paid to at least look like the one doing the picking up wasn’t three steps from arrest as well, and signed all of the necessary paperwork as well as handed over the money with zero prompting. He’d asked after Cullen’s well being first, which had earned him an eye roll and something about that he was fine. Not that Dorian really believed it, if how he’d sounded on the phone was anything to go by.

But he waited in the designated area with arms folded. It felt like hours that he stood there, just praying that nothing had changed or anything else equally ridiculous.

\------

After an eternity, an officer came back to the holding cell.

“Rutherford, your ride’s here,” he said as he unlocked the door.

Cullen pulled himself up on shaky legs as he made the longest short walk he'd ever made. Well, that wasn't true. He'd made other walks towards destinations that'd made his palms sweat and his stomach churn. Worse than this, yes, but this was pretty fucking high on his list of miserable walks.

Finally in the lobby, he couldn't meet Dorian's gaze. A quick glance from lowered eyes showed him how incongruous the man was in his world. Dorian didn't belong there. Not in that jail, and not with him. In _any_ capacity. The week of casual flirting and chatting and his stomach fluttering with growing affection seemed hollow in the wake of that idea.

_Get ready for goodbyes. I hope you can handle this. Don't want to say I told you so, but…_

The officer unlocked the handcuffs that bound his wrists.

“I hoped we'd seen the last of you, Rutherford. Make this the last time, ok?” he said as he handed the guitar back to Cullen and turned back towards the office, leaving him alone with Dorian.

The sound that escaped Cullen's lips was somewhere between a groan and a whine. His face burned with shame and frustration. His hands were balled into fists - fists that had gotten him into this mess. His eyes didn't leave the floor. He couldn't. He couldn't even look at Dorian. The man was too bright and good for the muck and mire and pure shit his world had become.

\------

He was trying not to listen in. Trying. Not succeeding. _Not the first time_. That was not at all what Dorian had expected. Cullen gave off that vibe of a good man who was going through some rough stuff, without question, but to for this to be something that happened enough for a guard to make a comment? That, or it was one of those who felt they had to. He remembered that from the times (multiple ones) with Rilienus. Dorian had been enough of his own scrapes too, so jumping to conclusions wasn’t going to win him anything.

Still, he looked over Cullen and a part of his heart broke for the man. He looked terrible. Beaten, in several senses of the word, and Dorian let out a soft breath before he moved closer and wound his arms loosely around the other man. It wasn’t the tight grip Cullen had used on him before, but tight enough that Dorian’s had him in against his chest. “Come on,” he prompted, “let’s get you out of here.”

\------

Dorian's arms around him. Somehow. Why? He flinched at the touch, tensing like a threatened animal, and then allowed Dorian to pull him in. He couldn't return it, couldn't relax, couldn't shut his mind off.

If he let any of this out, even a little, he'd not be able to stop the flood.

So he chose to be numb. It was easier. He allowed Dorian to lead him from the jail. He stood silently while Dorian hailed a cab. He didn't even know where he was being taken. He just sat in the back of the cab, shut down and withdrawn, eyes open but seeing nothing.

Only one word was in his head, repeated over and over until it lost all meaning and sense.

_Worthless._

\------

Once they settled in the cab and Dorian had given the driver his address, he leaned in just close enough that Cullen would feel the warmth of his body and gently rested a hand on the other man’s knee. He didn’t say anything yet, since Dorian could very much remember any conversation after posting bail, and instead just let Cullen know he was there. He’d have pulled him closer, wrapped him in his arms, but this was good for now. Safe. If Cullen wanted more then he could move closer or whatever he needed to do.

\------

Dull eyes watched as Dorian placed his hand on Cullen's knee, looking but not really seeing. He registered the shape and color of that hand, but it felt far off. There were four fingers. A thumb. Rings. Skin smooth like melted caramel. Heat. All those elements added up to the whole, and Cullen lost himself for a moment just observing the fine lines that stretched from the knuckles, the downy hairs on the back of that hand. The wrist. A watch. A bracelet. All fitting. All Dorian. All too good for him and all he wanted and all he couldn't have.

_Worthless._

But there was something else there, too, nestled between the watch and the bracelet. A thin black line that was somehow both out of place and right at home at the same time. One of the hair ties Dorian had stolen from Cullen graced that elegant wrist, as if it had every right to be there.

It had every right. It had every right because Dorian had chosen to put it on, just like Dorian had chosen to spend time with Cullen. Like Dorian had chosen to come help, offering comfort instead of judgment.

_Dorian had chosen._

Cullen's own fingers twitched then as his mind engaged, bringing back all that shame, yes, but also a wave of gratitude. Dorian had come for _him_. He'd come for him. Whatever followed, that fact would remain.

Cullen's aching fists balled again, short nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “Thank you.”

\------

It felt like a lifetime that they sat there in the dark with only the road sounds and soft music coming from the radio playing. Dorian hadn’t wanted to ask, hadn’t wanted to push, and thankfully it had helped. Even a little. Maker be damned, none of his other friends had ever thanked him so earnestly for doing the same thing. So he squeezed Cullen’s knee gently and bent down to press a kiss against his shoulder.

“S’alright,” he replied softly, “we’ll go back to mine. I’m not...I’m not going to make you be alone for a while, okay?”

\------

The rest of the ride passed in silence. There were too many thoughts for Cullen to process, so he simply closed his eyes and let them come, focusing on the warmth of Dorian's touch to keep him from losing himself again. The weight of that hand was a comforting support that helped him steady his mind.

_He feels sorry for you is all._

_No. That's not why._

_It has to be. Look at what you are._

_Look at what I could be, though. Look at that._

On and on, he argued with himself, and all the while, that soothing touch never moved, never lessened.

_He doesn't know._

_He should._

_Even if he runs?_

_Even so._

By the time the cab got to Dorian's building, Cullen had decided. He'd trust this man with his story. With everything. Let the pieces fall as they may; he couldn't continue like this.

Maker help him, he hadn't been looking for it, but here it was. He'd fallen.

\------

When they got up to his flat, Dorian locked the door behind them and slipped out of the shoes he wore before he turned to look at Cullen. Even at the precinct he didn’t get quite a good look at the other man for how curled in on himself he’d been. Now, in the the light and Cullen not half turned away, he could see a nice bruise forming around Cullen’s eye and a split in his lip. Thankfully it seemed like he hadn’t bled all over himself. Still, between that and the expression he wore Dorian was worried.

He moved in again, though he didn’t wind his arms around Cullen yet, and just rested his hands on the other man’s arm while he searched his face, “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll get us something warm to drink going,” he offered, “you can stow your guitar in my room. It can keep my books company.”

\------

He didn't want to lose his nerve. He didn't want to wait. He didn't want to give his mind time to vomit up reasons he shouldn't. He had to do this. A quick wash. And then he'd tell Dorian as much as he could stomach.

And then he'd see.

Cullen nodded and made his way to Dorian's bathroom. He summoned the courage to look at himself in the mirror, and he didn't like what he saw. Too pale by far. Dark circles surrounding glassy eyes. A bruise blooming where one of the kid’s friends had hit him. An angry red line bisecting his bottom lip, just under that hateful scar. Knuckles split and bleeding.

_Who am I anymore?_

He closed his eyes, just breathing for a while.

_Be still. Be calm. You know what you should do. Do it._

He washed his face and hands. The cold water helped sharpen his focus. He could do this. He had to. Determined now, he stepped out of the bathroom and went to where Dorian was waiting.

\------

While Cullen went to get cleaned up, Dorian pulled out a mall saucepan from a lower cabinet and poured a good amount of milk into it before turning on the heat. Another stop at a cabinet afforded him a heaping handful of chocolate chips, which were tossed into the milk to melt, as well as some cinnamon, vanilla, and a bottle of dark rum. He added a bit of each to the pan as it warmed, though perhaps a bit more rum than anything else, until steam just started to rise from the top. A taste, then more chocolate and a bit of sugar to make it sweeter, and Dorian stood over the pan with a spoon to stir it until everything had come together.

Hot chocolate powder was the inferior product, after all.

This was the kind of thing Dorian wanted when he was having a bad time. It was warm and comforting and easy to drink. Neither tea nor coffee sounded quite right for the moment, and despite the bit of rum in it he didn’t want to touch anything alcoholic. Right now Cullen needed something to help him relax, and this was the only thing Dorian could think to do. Trying to make him eat probably wouldn’t go down so well either. This would have to do for now.

He lifted his head when he heard Cullen coming and Dorian smiled, “Almost done.”

\------

Cullen crossed the distance to the kitchen without a word. He was vaguely aware that Dorian was actually making something for him, and any other time, that would have completely and utterly melted him… but right now, he only had eyes for the man himself.

As Dorian stirred the contents of the pot, hot chocolate, if the smell was anything to go by, Cullen padded up behind him, wrapping his arms around him slowly, gently, so as to not scare him. He laid his head against Dorian’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. He stayed that way for a good while, just breathing him in and feeling his warmth, savouring it in case it was his last chance, before finally speaking.

“I… I have so much I have to tell you…” he started.


	8. Do Not Pass Go [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen tells Dorian about himself and they get closer.

 

There was a gentleness in how Cullen wrapped his arms around him that Dorian really liked. He was used to being manhandled, even more used to being squeezed too tight and too fast, but he really liked how the other man sauntered up and moved in close to him. The hand not occupied with the spoon rested over Cullen’s and he turned to press a kiss against the other man’s temple. That little nuzzle was nice and it made him smile.

“Get us down some mugs and you can tell me,” he offered, “I’m here, hm?”

\------

Cullen stayed that way for a few more heartbeats, tightening the hold he had on Dorian. Maker, but the feeling of having this man in his arms! He hadn't felt this way since Ella, he recognized that now. It was new and it was floundering and confusing, but he wanted it to continue, to see if it would grow. The fact that, after his tale was told, Dorian may chose to be done with him - _probably would_ \- made him a little heartsick.

He finally pressed a kiss against the smooth skin of Dorian's neck and let go. Mugs were retrieved and Dorian poured them both cups of creamy hot chocolate. They went to the couch and sat, Cullen turned towards Dorian, cup shaking in his hands.

He took a careful swallow to calm himself. It was warm, not too hot, and delicious. Sweet and smooth and just what he needed. He felt warmed through, and his resolve strengthened a bit.

That was good. This was going to be hard, talking about himself. Letting someone in. He dismantled the mental walls he'd erected as he took deep breaths, trying to stop the shake in his hands and slow the beating of his heart.

“I don't really know where to begin…” he started.

\------

As they got settled on the couch, Dorian couldn’t help but watch Cullen. He noted the shake in his hands, the way he was getting himself to breathe, and Dorian set his mug down on the coffee table before he reached out a hand to rest on Cullen’s arm, “maybe start with what happened tonight?” he asked as he trailed his fingers over Cullen’s knuckles, “then we can work backward, if that’s easier on you?”

\------

He let out a long, ragged exhale that caught in places. He quieted that inner voice of doubt - _you can still leave just leave don't do this_. Except It wasn't doubt, not really. It was fear, plain and simple. A pure base instinct. Fight or flight. But he was tired of running.

Amber eyes studied Dorian's face. His words had been gentle, his expression kind.

_Fight then._

Cullen cast his eyes to the side, jaw working as he unlocked painful memories he'd banished to the dark corners of his mind long ago. His hands gripped the mug in a vice, knuckles turning white around the angry red scrapes, reminders of what he'd done.

It would be easier to do what Dorian asked. To just recount the events that had led him to this moment. But what had happened tonight, however terrible, wasn't important. It was a symptom of the disease, not the affliction itself. If he was going to try and move forward, he needed to show Dorian the extent of his… sickness. The root of his problem, that kernel of infection that had caused all of… this.

It felt dishonest not to at this point. Cullen was many things, most of them unpleasant these days, but he'd always been honest, at least while he was clean. It hurt him to hide, even as he did. As he had been hiding.

“I… no. No. I'll start where this began,” he said, eyes still askance, body stiff with fear… but he pushed on, “I need you to know why I am… the way I am.”

“You know I was married once. Her name was Ella,” his voice cracked over her name as he realized that was the first time he'd said it out loud in years, “Her name was Ella, and she was… she was everything.” His shoulders slumped and he heard the hollow note in his voice. It hurt, deeply, to even think of her. Unbidden, her smile, her laugh, filled his mind. It took a moment for him to continue.

But continue he did.

“We were happy. It wasn't a fairy tale - we had our days, our fights, but Maker, it was close,” a hitching breath, “Our story isn't… unique. It played out like every sad movie you've ever seen, I'm sure. Cliché, even. A drive in the pouring rain. I was going too fast, far too fast. We were late to some work party. I didn't even want to go, so I made us late. And then I lost control.”

He took another sip of his drink to give him time to prepare for what came next. The tears were threatening already, he could feel them burning behind his eyes. His body trembled at the effort to hold it together, just long enough to get this out. He needed to get this out, it had festered long enough.

“I lost control. Standing water I didn't see, and suddenly the car was wrapped around a tree. It happened so _fast_. I didn't even have time to breathe,” he paused again. He had to keep going. He had to.

“I walked away with this,” he said, running a finger over the scar that was a constant reminder of his guilt and pain, “but, Maker help me, she didn't walk away at all.”

And his breath hitched then and became shallow pants as his shoulders rocked with sobs, even though he held back the tears. Still, he fought on.

“She was gone. Just gone. And it was because of me. It was my fault,” his voice became small, a tremulous whisper, “I killed her. _Me. I did it_.”

And he had to stop. The lump in his throat demanded it. He clenched his teeth as he stared down into his cup, desperately trying to find the courage to continue.

\------

Maker help him. Dorian listened, didn’t speak, and just rested his hand on Cullen’s knee. He’d never known loss like that. No one he’d known or loved had ever died. He’d lost friends, walked away from family, but had never known pain like losing someone he loved like that. A spouse? A _partner_? Dorian couldn’t understand the concept of _having_ one, let alone losing one.

A lot of things made sense then. Well, more sense. Cullen didn’t so much act like a divorced man. How he’d phrased things, how he’d acted, was a lot easier to understand.

He leaned over and kissed Cullen’s shoulder, then lifted his hand to start those big, slow circles against the other man’s back like he’d done the other night. The fact that Cullen blamed himself said much. That guilt...Dorian didn’t know anything like that either. But what did he say? If he tried to deflect that,try to convince Cullen he wasn’t at fault when he seemed to believe it so completely? That would only agitate him. Dorian remembered that from his first few therapy sessions.

Sympathy. He could try for sympathy anyway. “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly, “that’s...no one should have to lose someone they love.” Dorian moved that little bit closer then, hand still moving over Cullen’s back, and rested his other hand back on cullen’s knee.

\------

There it was. The sympathy. He'd gotten a lot of the same after Ella died. Sympathetic noises and gestures and suitably wet eyes trying to tell him… _something_. He'd seen it before.

It was just as heartbreaking now as it had been then.

He grabbed Dorian's arm to stop its motions of comfort and pushed it gently back.

_Not yet. Wait, then see if you still want me near._

“There's more. That's not the end,” he said, a mournful tone coloring his voice.

\------

The way Cullen pushed his hands away was a bit discouraging, but Dorian just nodded and picked up his mug, “Okay,” he replied with a nod. Maybe it was better to just...take it in. Clearly that’s what Cullen wanted, anyway.

\------

“I… after Ella was gone, I lost myself,” he continued, fighting not to pull Dorian back, to just stop it here and let the man take him into his arms and make it better.

He couldn't. He'd see this through.

“I couldn't function, even after taking time off. I just sat in a dark house, too scared to die and too scared to live,” it was the closest he'd ever come to admitting out loud that there was a long stretch of time where he'd just wanted it all to end. “The doctors said it was anxiety, so they prescribed pills to fix me.” His voice turned bitter then, all choked-back tears and venom.

“The pills helped. I could go back to work. I floated through the day in a haze, but I was there,” another breath, “I began to… depend on them. I needed them. I needed them, or it would all fall down. And then the doctors stopped prescribing them.”

Pain and disgust washed over his face, the small muscles twitching with the effort it took to keep going.

“I turned… to other things. There were pills and powders that didn't need a doctor's prescription. If I thought I'd lost myself before, this was… something different.”

He felt weary straight to his bones. He was almost done, thank the Maker.

“I was gone. I lost everything, my job, the house, my friends, everything was gone, but I didn't give a shit. I had blue and that's all I needed. I sold what little I had left just to get more. I did terrible things just to get more. Always, the need for more. More. _More_.”

A low groan escaped his lips as he lowered his head into his hands.

“You asked me once how long I'd been playing in that station. I didn't tell you then because that answer is tied to this shit… and that was too much. The answer is that I've been playing in that station for as long as I've been sober. 8 months this time, but who knows how long that will last.”

He looked back up at Dorian, tears finally, finally spilling over golden lashes.

“There's always _something_ , you see, and I am weak.”

\------

Again, Dorian reached out and just rested a hand on Cullen’s knee. It was a lot to take in, more than he’d expected, and he just stayed quiet for a while. When he’d said he had a lot to say, Dorian expected...well, he didn’t know what he’d expected. On some level he knew something wasn’t good with Cullen. No one played for tips _every single day_ and had everything together. Dorian had known that when he’d asked Cullen out the first time. He’d been apprehensive, since it was a very real concern that either of them could have hurt the other.

Still, that story was more than Dorian expected. Dead wife, sad but believable, but drugs too? Granted, Dorian knew his fair share of people who did them for worse reasons if they even had any at all. Losing someone you were _married_ to, Maker’s sake, was a better reason than any Dorian could think of. He took a breath, weighing it all out in his head, and squeezed Cullen’s knee. Suddenly Dorian was acutely aware of the pill bottles in his bathroom as well as the two on the kitchen counter. He’d been worried Cullen would judge him, provided he even noticed, but maybe not.

Though nothing could prepare him for the sight of Cullen actually crying. He’d seen the wet, red eyes before. He’d seen his breathing shake before. He hadn’t seen real tears and it made his own throat feel a little thick. “Have a bit more of this,” Dorian prompted and helped Cullen lift the mug again, “it’s okay.”

\------

“It's _not_ ok,” Cullen replied with sudden heat, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, “None of this is ok. Maker, I don't even know who I am anymore! I've stolen. I've lied.”

His hands dropped, heavy, and the heat left just as quickly as it came.

“I'm broken and _wrong_. I'm no good. You can't trust me. How… how can you even stand to look at me?”

Misery was painted on his features as he tried to find a way to tell Dorian just how far he'd fallen. Words failed him, so he just slumped over, choking on bile and regret for a life wasted.

“I'm no good,” he repeated, “I can't be anything for you. I can't even be anything for myself.”

\------

He took a breath then and moved over to the side a bit before he pulled at Cullen’s arm, “Come here,” he instructed. It wasn’t a suggestion or a question. It was the same gentle but firm tone he used when telling interns where to put things in the inventory. Dorian rearranged them, mugs of drink on the table, so Cullen’s head was in his lap and Dorian could pet at those curls, “so it’s not okay,” he pointed out, “you’re not okay and things are...shitty.” He ran his fingers through that soft hair then, “but you’re _safe_ here, alright?”

\------

_Safe. You're safe._

Amber eyes, ringed red with exhaustion and shame and everything in between, opened wide as Cullen felt Dorian's fingers begin working their way gently through his hair. He felt the soft scratch of nails across his scalp. Achingly gentle. Heartbreaking, really, to finally find someone to just… accept him. Even as he was, without an empty promise of being better.

_Safe._

The word echoed through his shocked mind. He didn't even know he needed to feel… safe. But, Maker help him, he had needed it. Needed it more than he'd known. Safe just to be himself. Safe to not have to hide any more. Safe.

Dorian was safety. Dorian was kindness in a world of cruelty. Dorian was soft touches and sweet words where there'd been none before. Who knew how he'd feel tomorrow, who knew how Dorian would feel tomorrow, but right now, Dorian was what he needed. His world, if only for the moment.

The tears fell in earnest as he brought his knees to his chest and gripped the fabric of Dorian's shirt for dear life. He let the wave wash over him, open and vulnerable but safe.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “thank you.”

\------

“I’ve got you,” he promised. Dorian settled back against the couch and contented himself with petting Cullen’s hair for a while. It wouldn’t do to try to talk to him now. Sometimes people just needed to get the bad shit out. He wounds his finger through the curls, winding them around, and then moving them out of the way before he started a gentle scratch and digging his fingertips into the knotted muscle at Cullen’s hairline that he’d seen the other man nursing before. It wasn’t much, but Dorian could remember wanting someone to do the same for him what felt like both a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time.

\------

Cullen was content to just lie there and ride out the storm. The pain was real and unrelenting and it tore through him like a tornado, leaving everything broken and bruised in the aftermath.

How long had this storm been brewing? How long had it been since he'd just let go. Years. It had been years since he'd felt like he had any right to howl out his pain until there was nothing left. Years since there was anyone who'd let him. Years since anyone cared.

But then Dorian was there. He'd told Dorian everything he could stand to tell, and there was no look of disgust. There was no hollow pity and turning him out on his own. There was only care and concern and tender fingers stroking his hair as he broke down.

The aftermath of a tornado was devastating. It destroyed everything it touched. But didn't the stormy night eventually end? Didn't the sun come up the next day? Wasn't there a hope to rebuild?

Hope.

It was small and frail, but Cullen felt that odd little twist of hope in his chest, and the storm was over. His heart, battered as it was, felt lighter than it had in such a long time. He lay there for a long while, just breathing and listening to the rhythm of Dorian’s heart.

How could he ever thank him? There was nothing he could do, nothing he had that would mean as much as that hand caressing his hair.

_There is something._

Cullen sat up, rubbing his face, and gave Dorian a shy smile.

“Wait here,” he said as he rose from the couch and walked away.

\------

When Cullen sat up, Dorian was genuinely surprised. He’d half expected the other man to lie there for the rest of the night. Not that he minded. Dorian was content to pet Cullen’s hair until he slept. Though that small smile was...nice. Very nice. He hadn’t seen the other man smile in what felt like weeks. “Okay,” he answered, and picked his mug back up to take a few sips from it.

\------

Back in Dorian’s bathroom, Cullen took another look at himself. Not much had changed since he’d been there earlier. He still looked tired, he still looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out.

But there was the ghost of a smile there, and that was something. That was more than enough.

He splashed some cold water on his face, took a few sips from cupped hands, and toweled off. Better. Only marginally, but better. It would do. He laughed softly at himself. It felt a bit silly, what he was planning, but it also felt like it could be perfect. Something only he could do. Something for Dorian.

That thought pushed him past the barrier of self consciousness, so he grabbed his guitar from where he’d left it leaning on Dorian’s bed. It hadn’t been damaged, thank the Maker, and he took a moment to make sure it was still in tune. It was. He shouldered the guitar, his old friend, and made his way back to the living room. Dorian was waiting for him.

Dorian made a move to speak, but Cullen raised his hand. He couldn’t talk. If he spoke, he’d clam up, lose his nerve, and then he’d have nothing to give Dorian to thank him for giving Cullen what he’d needed.

Cullen sat then, twisting to face Dorian. This was for him, and Cullen wanted him to understand that.

And then, despite his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers began to move across the guitar, plucking out the opening refrain of the only song he could think to sing right now.

_We’ll do it all. Everything. On our own._  
_We don’t need anything. Or anyone._

He played it slowly. His voice cracked and rasped from the night’s escapades. But the feeling was there, the emotion, the power. He was singing for Dorian.

_If I lay here_  
_If I just lay here_  
_Would you lay with me, and just forget the world?_

Maker, but he wanted that. He heard his voice hitch over that chorus, he couldn’t help it. It was too close to the truth not to.

_I don’t quite know_  
_How to say_  
_How I feel_

_I need your grace_  
_To remind me_  
_Of my own_

He met Dorian’s eyes then. _This is what you’ve done for me. This is what you’ve done, and it’s more than anyone ever has, and it is precious to me. Please understand._

_I don’t know where_  
_Confused about how as well_  
_Just know that these things will never change for us at all_

_If I lay here_  
_If I just lay here_  
_Would you lay with me, and just forget the world?_

The song ended, and Cullen took a shaky breath. There had been so much of him he’d shared tonight, he felt raw and exposed, and he could feel it come out in his playing. It had been as unsteady as he himself was. He looked up, shy and hesitant, to see what Dorian thought.

\------

He’d asked Cullen to play for him. Solo. Dorian had said he wanted a ‘private show’ though at the time he hadn’t thought it would ever happen. He hadn’t expected it then, and he certainly didn’t expect it after earlier. It actually made his head spin. It was beautiful, surely, but it made his head spin. Grey eyes watched both Cullen’s face and his hands as he played, and as he sat he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He drank from his mug, smiled a little as the words washed over him, and he licked his lips after.

When Cullen was done he set the mug down and clapped lightly. What else was he supposed to do, after all? “You didn’t have to do that,” he pointed out and scooted a bit closer to the other man, “I’m glad you did, but…” His tone was soft, reverent, and Dorian smiled a little.

“I…” Maker, he didn’t know what to say to it. Cullen had been crying in his lap a few minutes ago and now he was playing music for him.

_Don’t say anything stupid._

“I’m here for you,” was what he went with after a long moment and smiled again, this time something slightly more shy. There were a lot of things moving through his head: how much he appreciated that, how much he cared and how much he didn’t want to sound...flippant? Unappreciative? Maker, the last thing Dorian wanted was to say something underwhelming.

One hand reached out for one of Cullen’s then, and he lifted it to press a kiss to one of the bruised knuckles, “I _care_ about you.”

\------

_Oh._

_That was too much._

Of course it was too much. He'd just fucking serenaded the man after crying on his couch for an hour. It was written on Dorian's face. The way he chose his words carefully, the way his features twisted in thought told Cullen maybe he shouldn't have. He felt a weight settle even as Dorian kissed his hand and said he cared about him. _Care_. There's a word that could be translated a few different ways.

Something shifted and Cullen suddenly felt like an overeager puppy, trying to please any way it could, to disastrous results.

He leaned against the body of his guitar, hiding behind it, mind swirling.

_But he'd said he wanted…_

_He was joking._

_Oh._

But still, in that moment, he'd just wanted to do something. He wasn't good with words. He didn't have anything to offer but his music. He'd just wanted…

“I, um… I wanted to. I just thought that maybe you'd… I don't know. I wanted to thank you, but I didn't know how,” he was stumbling over his own tongue - _shut up, you'll make it worse_ , “Maker, I'm sorry. Next time I'll just go with ‘thanks,’ ok? Not that I'm looking to repeat all… this… I just… “

He gave up then, hoping he didn't seem as big a fool as he felt.

\------

“Whoa, hey,” Dorian prompted and shook his head before he moved in closer and cupped Cullen’s face in his hands, “listen to me.” He studied Cullen’s face then, “no one’s ever done or...sang, actually, anything like that for me before. It was more than I could have ever hoped for.” Dorian explained. His thumb brushed against Cullen’s cheek then, “this may be one of the only times I’ve ever been genuinely speechless.”

Dorian caught Cullen’s gaze then, taking care that the other man could see him so as to not be surprised, and leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed together, “I think I’d really to just...what was it, lie with you? Forget everything for a while? Just us.”

\------

This was like a rollercoaster. _Cullen_ was a rollercoaster. All his ups and downs and twists and turns - he could barely keep up with himself, how could he expect Dorian to?

Yet here he was. Looking at Cullen, actually seeing him, soothing him, taking care of him. Riding with him on this rollercoaster.

Cullen closed his eyes, raising a tentative hand to rest on the curve where Dorian's neck met his shoulder, thumb stroking the warm skin there, tenderly.

He thought his chest might burst from the overload of emotion the evening had become - anger, shame, sadness, and now… what was that soft feeling? What was that fluttering warmth that was both wonderful and frightening? Both familiar and alien? Was there a word for it?

His brows knit then. Whatever that feeling was, it was joined by incredulity.

“Even now that you _know_?” he asked, voice full of gravel and pitched low.

\------

One of Dorian’s hands lifted to curl through Cullen’s hair, “Did you think I’d throw you out?” he asked, then shook his head, “I doubt I would have done anything different if I were in your place.” As it was, he tended to prefer a bottle of wine to his anxiety medication. That was another thought for another time, though. “I _like_ you, alright?” Dorian asked, “and you’re _trying_ , which is impressive to me.”

\------

As he looked into those shining gray eyes, Cullen felt that warm feeling spread, radiating out through his fingers and toes. Another loop on the rollercoaster, for sure, but this was a feeling he wanted to hold on to.

_I like you._

Another choice of words that could be interpreted so many ways, but it still made his heart jump like a schoolboy with a crush.

_Maker, is that what this is?_

No, he was too old and worn for crushes or games. That feeling of warmth that saturated his head and heart and body… that was something more.

“I… that is, may I kiss you?”

He knew it seemed ridiculous, asking now after he'd already done it once. But that first time, he hadn't been thinking, hadn't been in a state to think. This was different. He'd broken down earlier, yes, but he'd since pulled himself together a bit... enough to want to be sure he was wanted, at least.

He'd take everything Dorian wanted to give him, but he wanted to make sure.

\------

Dorian sucked in a breath. He didn’t expect that, not after everything before, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Not at all. “I’d like it if you would,” he agreed with a small smile and curled his fingers a bit more tightly in those curls as his other hand guided Cullen’s lips closer to his own. The kiss was gentle, something that could be deepened at their own pace, and Dorian moved in that little bit closer so he could feel the heat coming off Cullen’s skin against his own.

\------

He was floating in warm water, relaxing and letting himself go in a way he hadn't before. It was nice. No, that wasn't right. It was better than nice. The feeling of Dorian's hands tangling in his hair, the press of his lips, it was better than _nice_. Cullen wasn't sure there was a word for it, so he let that go, too.

And then he felt a hard pressure against his chest. That was… not nice.

_Maker, the guitar…_

He pulled away then and laughed at himself. At the situation. At everything.

“This thing,” he explained, as he leaned the guitar against the coffee table with a little smile. He turned back to Dorian again, eyes questioning.

_What now?_

\------

That made him chuckle and Dorian settled back into the couch before he crooked his finger for Cullen to come closer, “Come here,” he prompted with a sly smile, “now that you’re not encumbered.”

\------

Oh, that smile. That look. Cullen's joints went lose all at once and his breath caught.

_Beautiful._

The word revolved around his head as he leaned forward, running a hand up Dorian’s chest, his neck, cupping his face in his hand while lips met lips again. Slowly. Tasting him. Learning him.

The angle was bad. He needed more. More touch. More of that warmness that Dorian was. He took his time, moving gingerly, as he first lifted and then moved his knees to either side of Dorian's thighs, pulling him in tighter with his arms. There it was. Now he could feel that press of the other man against him. Now it was better.

\------

The kiss was good. Very good. Dorian moved into it, kissed Cullen back, and smoothed his hands along the other man’s arms before he wound his arms around his neck. Maker, Dorian loved this part. He loved kissing, especially loved kissing people he _liked_ , and Cullen didn’t disappoint him. Dorian sighed, a warm kind of happiness filling him, especially when his lap was suddenly very full of the other man.

Yes.

One hand tangled a bit more into Cullen’s hair at the nape of his neck until it was wrapped rather tightly in his fingers. Dorian pulled a little, just enough for Cullen to feel it, and nipped at his lower lip. This was...Maker, it was so good. So, so good.

_The man just talked to you about his dead wife and now you’re kissing him like you’re about to take him to bed._

That sobered him a little. Dorian took a breath, though he didn’t stop the way his fingers tangled in Cullen’s hair. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to Cullen’s like they’d been before. A few more kisses, light ones, and Dorian took another breath. He needed to be smart about this. Not two hours ago Cullen had been telling him about all the ways his life and he was fucked up. Sleeping with someone on the heels of that was a bad idea.

“Cullen,” he prompted against the other man’s lips. Dorian leaned in a bit more, kissed the scar that bisected his upper lip, and searched his eyes, “wait, wait. We’re not...we shouldn’t. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

\------

That tug of his hair, the teeth grazing his lips, it sent a bolt through Cullen's body and he fought the urge to roll his hips and push for more. He couldn't suppress the little moan that escaped his lips. He couldn't help it. This was, oh Maker, this was… more than someone like him deserved. Wonderful.

And then Dorian was pulling away, resting his forehead against Cullen’s. Cullen's insides did a twist every time he did that. There was something about it that was just so intimate and achingly sweet. It was swiftly becoming his favorite thing.

_I'm not going to take advantage of you._

Cullen's eyes widened at that and he felt the heat slipping away. _Advantage?_ Of course, that's what it would look like to him. Andraste's blood, Cullen had been in a fight, arrested, crying his heart out, and now his body was gearing itself up for… _something_ … and that was all within the span of an evening. If Dorian hadn't said anything, if he'd just kept going, Cullen would have, too. He knew that.

But in his current state, still raw around the edges and too open and bleeding, what would he be like after?

No, Dorian was right. This wasn't the time. Not now. Maker, what he do to deserve someone so kind in his life? Someone so good?

He smiled then as he studied Dorian's face, melting at the worry and concern there. He raised his hand to the man's cheek, thumb circling that dark spot that rode high on Dorian's cheek. He quite liked that one… blemish? Blemish didn't seem like the right word for something that set off Dorian's beauty like that.

He sighed.

“You wouldn't be taking advantage,” he breathed, “I'd be lying if I said I didn't… want this,” his face flushed with how forward that statement was - for him anyway. “But you're right. I'm… I'm in no state.”

He leaned in and nuzzled into Dorian's neck again. He loved the man's scent, how it was dark and spicy and sweet. It was… calming, comforting.

“Can we… can we stay like this for a while, though? Please?”

\------

Dorian nodded in reply for that and curled his arms a bit more tightly around Cullen for a moment, “Sure,” he agreed. Though he knew sitting like this wouldn’t be comfortable forever. “Here,” he prompted, and patted Cullen’s knee to get them reshuffled. Dorian grabbed one of the cushions, tucked it under his back, and pulled Cullen in close so they were stretched out together with the other man’s head on his shoulder, “how’s this?” One hand tangled back up into those curls and Dorian reached over for his mug of now rapidly cooling hot chocolate, “we can stay like this as long as you want.”

On some level, he was glad Cullen recognized that he wasn’t trying to push away. It wasn’t meant to be a slight, or a sign that he wasn’t interested, only that he didn’t want Cullen to wake up in the morning and have to square with the fact that they’d slept together. A.) after he’d been arrested, B.) on the heels of such an emotional talk, and C.) on their third...well, this wasn’t a date. Third time of being in close proximity for longer than it took for Dorian’s train to come. By choice. Normally Dorian was content to fall into bed halfway through the first date, that was actually how he _preferred_ it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t use Cullen’s hurt to assuage his sexual appetite. The man was gorgeous, but that was low.

He ducked his chin down and kissed the top of Cullen’s head then. His hair smelled a bit like smoke, probably from the bar, but there was also the underlying something that might have been drugstore shampoo and just how the man himself smelled. Dorian liked that.

\------

_As long as I want?_

Cullen smiled to himself. He doubted that. He doubted that very much. Dorian had to get up and go to work the next day, after all.

He settled down, relaxing into the embrace and feeling again like he was floating in warm water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so calm. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d just unloaded, hollowing out that part of his soul that had been full of sickness and poison. He wasn’t naive enough to think all that shit wouldn’t come back as soon as he was alone in his own head, but for now, he was… at peace. Drained but content.

His thumb moved slowly back and forth, drawing lazy arcs where his hand rested on Dorian’s chest.

That warm water was drawing him down. His eyelids grew heavy and he felt himself drifting off.

\------

Dorian sipped from his drink and frowned for how cold it was. Chocolate milk now, for better or worse, which wasn’t what he wanted. Ugh. He put it back down on the coffee table and wound his arms properly around Cullen. The man’s bulk so close was very nice. He buried his face in that soft hair, kissing softly, and sighed with contentment. It had been a long time, years or more, since someone had curled around him like that. No one had ever been terribly interested in that part, Dorian included.

The fingers of one hand worked at the back of Cullen’s neck while the other smoothed along his arm. Dorian could tell by how he breathed that Cullen was probably close to sleep. They probably should have moved to the bed, but he was content for now. “You’re warmer than a blanket, you know that” he asked idly, smiling a bit, I could probably keep the heat off with you around.”

\------

Dorian's voice brought Cullen back from the edge of sleep.

“mmmmm… help keep the power bill down… you're welcome…” he mumbled with a sleepy smile.

Oh, that hand working the knot he always carried at the base of his skull was heaven. He lay still, just feeling those fingers work and letting his mind drift back. There was something else, wasn't there? Something else he wanted to tell Dorian tonight?

Ah, right.

“... it was some asshole kid,” his voice was still sleepy and slow. “This afternoon. Said some things, but he grabbed my guitar. Said he was going to take it. That's what did it. That's why.”

He sighed and nestled in closer. This wasn't the same as the painful admissions he'd made earlier. In the light of day, he'd feel guilty, but for now, he just wanted Dorian to know why he had to come pick him up from jail and toss that much cash away.

“.... I'll pay you back…” he finished, already half asleep again.

\------

“Shh,” Dorian soothed gently and chuckled a bit, “I figured it would have had to be something like that.” He hated the younger set. Even if the kid was just some brat in his twenties, Dorian could imagine beating the shit out of them too. That guitar was, for the moment, Cullen’s livelihood. Dorian could only imagine what he’d have done if someone had tried to make off with...Maker, maybe his laptop or something? Especially during his thesis days.

He bent down and kissed Cullen’s forehead, “you can pay me back by maybe doing some cooking, if you really want to. It’d be nice to have some home cooking around here.”

\------

Cullen chuckled at that. Hadn't he had a silly little vision of doing that just last week? Had it only been a week? Either way, he liked the idea.

“Prepare to be impressed,” he teased, all the while knowing he'd still find a way to pay the man back. He didn't like taking his change, much less $1500 in bail money.

He shifted on the couch. It was far more comfortable than the futon he usually slept on, but they were two full-grown men, and Cullen had put on a few pounds since sobering up. Still, it was warm and cozy, and he was loathe to leave the sanctuary of Dorian's arms.

\------

“I look forward to it,” he replied with another smile before he yawned a bit and hugged Cullen closer. A blanket wouldn’t have gone astray, despite Cullen’s warmth, and he closed his eyes. “Will it be the promised shepherd’s pie?” he asked against Cullen’s hair, “or does he have more than one specialty?”

\------

“I'd be a lousy cook if all I could make was one thing,” he groused as memories of days spent helping his mother preparing Sunday dishes drifted lazily around his head. His brother and sister usually bickering over who had to set the table and who had to clear it. His father stepping in to settle the discussion. His mother hiding a bemused smile behind her hand and winking at Cullen. Pleasant. Warm.

Home.

He twisted then to fold his arms on Dorian's chest, resting his chin on his forearms, so he could see his face. This was warm, too. A different kind, but just as good.

Cullen still wore a sleepy expression, he was exhausted, but his eyes brightened as he went on.

“I've got quite a few tricks up my sleeve. I've even been known to bake. I'm sure your pots and pans would die of shock.”

\------

One hand still carded through those curls and Dorian smiled before he pressed the index finger of his other hand against his lips, “Don’t let them hear you,” he teased back, “they might mutiny for having to do actual work.” That made him chuckle then and Dorian scooted down a bit so they were both more lying down on the couch with Cullen pillowed on him, “but you may need to tell me what you want to make so I can maybe make sure I have what you need. I’m sure if you looked through my cabinets right now you’d never forgive me.”

\------

“Mm,” Cullen replied thoughtfully, sinking into the new position. He liked feeling the rise and fall of Dorian's chest as he breathed. He liked feeling his voice rumbling up from that chest as he spoke. He liked hearing that heartbeat. “I'll take a stab and say cookies are likely present. What was it, macadamia?”

He yawned then, and winced a bit from the pain of his bruised face. Maker, he'd almost forgotten about that.

\------

Ah, Cullen had remembered. There was something endearing about that. Not many people Dorian knew would have listened that hard to him making comments like that. Superficial conversation was often forgotten in lieu of something that didn’t require real words, and never brought up again. “Snack food and lots of condiments,” he agreed with a nod, “though I may have some chicken in the freezer, but don’t quote me on that much.” He was smiling now. It was fun to just talk.

At that yawn, though, Dorian moved his hand to press his palm gently against the bruises on Cullen’s face. The skin was hot and felt puffy. “We should get you some ice for that,” he offered, “for all the good it might do you now. You’ll be black and blue for a while.”

\------

Despite how curled up in each other they'd been on the couch, the gentleness in Dorian's hand on his face still got to Cullen. It would be a while before he could get used to these small gestures of care, so sparing had they been in the past five years.

But ice? Ice was the opposite of what he wanted, all cold and sharp. He was happy in this warm little bundle on the couch. Regardless of how right Dorian may have been - and Cullen knew he was - a freezing compress on his face didn't appeal. At all.

He reached for the hand that had been so gingerly caressing his face and threaded his fingers through Dorian’s, pulling that hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

“Nope. No ice,” he said, with a little petulant lilt, “I'm not moving. Unless it's to bed. And even then, you'll have to convince me.”

\------

That suited Dorian fine. Getting up was pretty low on the list of things he wanted to do anyway. He liked how it felt to just be close. Having a warm body close to his own was something Dorian really liked, and there was something almost novel about having it with little to no expectation of something else needing to happen. “We can do bed in a bit,” he mused, “I’m comfortable right here. You look like you are too.” Truly, it would be a crime against humanity to disturb how Cullen was stretched out. Dorian had never seen him so at ease.

\------

“Mm… I am,” Cullen replied, closing his eyes. Sleep wasn't too far behind. It had been a long, strange day, after all. Come to think of it, the last time a day had ended like this, with Dorian's arms around him as he drifted off to sleep, it had been strange, too.

That was ok. He'd suffer strange days if they led to this.

His breathing evened out as he let himself doze a bit. He couldn't help it. He'd not let himself relax in so long. It was a… nice feeling. Dorian was a… nice man.

“This is nice. You're nice,” he allowed his internal thoughts out, voice thick with sleep.

\------

That made Dorian snort. He was certainly _not_ a nice man. Nice men didn’t do the things he did. Nice men didn’t want people around for selfish reasons. Nice men...Dorian wasn’t a nice man. Cullen was, regardless of his past, and men like that didn’t like men like him. despite the fact that Cullen might be broken in some ways, like most everyone, he had a good heart. He wouldn’t have broken down like he had if he didn’t. Dorian never had. he’d done what he was supposed to do: cut off contact, go to therapy, get a job that was interesting and lucrative to distract him, only mostly rely on alcohol to drown the thoughts that popped up when he had a moment alone, and meet people capable of making him feel like he was a part of something. That was what he was supposed to do. He’d practically made the checklist in the taxi on the way away from...well, from There.

There.

Nice men didn’t go There, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t chosen it. Nice men were able to get out of things like that because people trusted them. His parents couldn’t even do that. No...no he wasn’t nice.

“You’re tired,” Dorian murmured after a while, “you think everything is nice when you’re tired.”

\------

Cullen’s brows knit together in exhausted confusion. Was Dorian saying the way they were wrapped up together, safe and warm, wasn't nice? No. No, that wasn't right. It really, really was.

Was he then saying that he himself wasn't nice? That wasn't right either. Flirty, a little uninhibited, yes, but he was a good man. Why else would he have seen anything in Cullen when so many others hadn't? Why had he taken time to comfort him? Why else would he have picked him up from jail?

Why did he refuse to take advantage of Cullen - twice - when Cullen had been so embarrassingly vulnerable?

No, actions spoke louder than words; they always had to Cullen. And Dorian's actions had been those of a good man. A nice man.

With a bit of effort, Cullen roused himself, lifting his head from Dorian's chest to meet his gray eyes. He was dismayed to see a little wistful sadness playing at their edges.

“I _am_ tired, but I'm not wrong,” he argued, pushing himself up to kiss the tip of Dorian's nose through a little grin, “ _this_ is nice. _You_ are nice.”

\------

“Only to you,” he answered easily, “don’t go spreading it around.” As it was, Sera was the only one even nebulously aware of his... _infatuation_. She’d seen the pictures, heard the brief overviews, but she was smarter than a lot of people gave her credit for. Dorian knew she saw the way his face looked when he spoke about Cullen, or spoke _to_ him in the case of the messages. She was the only one he really trusted seeing him in such a way.

He tipped his chin up just slightly to meet those lips in a kiss, and Dorian sighed, “but thank you. It’s nice to hear out loud. You’re rather nice yourself.”

\------

“Only to you,” Cullen sighed, tossing Dorian's words back at him.

He'd done a great many not nice things in the past five years. He'd stolen from family and friends when the need grew so strong that it superceded his personality and morals. He'd lied to get what he wanted. He'd hurt others; Void take him, he'd broken that college guy’s nose this very afternoon just for grabbing his guitar.

The warmth receded a little then, as he reminded himself that this reprieve was merely temporary.

All the same shit would be there tomorrow.

He pushed that thought away and out. It had no place here, not now where everything was so comfortable and _right_. It felt right, how their bodies fit together on this couch. It felt right to have Dorian's fingers running through his hair. It felt right to let go, to pull that shield down and relax.

He followed Dorian back for another kiss. Maker, he could kiss this man all night, but he settled for a soft brushing of lips before he rested his head back down on Dorian's chest. His face flushed, thinking of what it might be like to press his lips against the rest of Dorian's body, his shoulders, his back, his chest, that little hollow place just next to his hipbone. How would Dorian feel under his lips and fingers? How would he _taste_? The thought came with a telltale heat, pooling below his waist.

_Maker, stop that. There's no hiding it this close._

He shifted positions again, trying to create space without pulling away.

\------

Where his head was pillowed against the arm of the couch, Dorian lowered his chin to look down at Cullen. To feel him wiggling like that was actually quite endearing in its own way. The hand in those curls slowed, and Dorian looked down at the other man, “We could move to bed, maybe?” he offered. They’d have more space to relax there. Dorian liked having Cullen pressed so close, but there wasn’t anything worse than being wedged in somewhere. “Comfortable as the couch is, the bed is better.”

\------

 _I'm pretty sure I'd be comfortable wherever you are,_ Cullen thought as he untangled himself from Dorian's arms.

Instead, he smiled and replied, “That is a very excellent idea.” And it was. He needed a little space right now to calm down. A trip to the bathroom, maybe a splash of water to his face. Then he could bed down with Dorian without… giving anything away. Maybe.

Except, once again, he wasn't prepared. All he had were the clothes on his back, soiled with dirt and blood from the day's activities.

“Apparently, I need to start carrying around a change of clothes with me… just in case,” he gave a little laugh.

\------

That made him chuckle and Dorian patted Cullen’s back to get him to sit up. When they were slightly more vertical, he leaned over and kissed the other man’s cheek, “you can wear those pants you wore the last time,” he offered, “if you want. Or...you know, you could _not_. I’ll still promise to be good. Mostly.”

Cullen swallowed and cleared his throat. Maker, Dorian said he wouldn't take advantage, but Cullen couldn't help but wonder what that word, “mostly,” entailed. His imagination was either very vivid in his exhaustion or he was just too tired to reign in his roaming mind, but suddenly, a splash of cold water to his face seemed like a very good idea.

Where was that ice Dorian had mentioned earlier when he needed it?

“So. Yes, I think maybe pants would be good,” he stood, rubbing his neck. The heat rising in his cheeks let him know that his face was likely a lovely shade of magenta by now.

\------

“Well, I tried,” he teased warmly and got to his feet to offer Cullen his hand, “are you going to have a shower?” After everything, Dorian expected as much. He’d been lounging before so he could feasibly put it off until the morning. Maybe he would. “Might make you feel a little better.”

\------

 _A cold shower at this point_ , he thought as he took Dorian's hand and let him lead the way to the bedroom.

“Mmmm, I think I should. I feel like I have jail all over me,” - _and I'd rather have you all over me. Damn it, that's enough, Rutherford!_ \- “Now that I know how your shower works, it should be less eventful…”

\------

“I think you’ve had enough eventful for tonight,” he agreed once they got into the bedroom and Dorian had the lamps on. The hand in Cullen’s squeezed and he turned to let himself be pressed in close to that slightly larger frame, “though I like this.”

\------

_A very, very cold shower._

He pressed back, for a moment - it's all he trusted himself to do; he'd been working himself up in his own head since that errant thought on the couch of lips and teeth and tongue trailing down perfect caramel skin...

_Quit it. It was a bad idea when we talked about it earlier, and it's still a bad idea. Very bad._

That didn't stop him from leaning in for a kiss, a bit rougher than he'd wanted, a bit too needy, hands pulling the man in at the hips, bringing them flush with his own before wrapping his arms around Dorian's waist to keep them that way.

_Shit._

It seemed like he couldn’t trust himself at all right now. He pulled back.

“Maker, I'm sorry. I'll go for that shower now.”

\------

It was easy to let himself be pulled into that kiss, and Dorian wrapped his arms almost lazily around Cullen’s neck. Kissing was good. Being grabbed at was better. What was...well, it was increasingly _distracting_ , was the fact that Dorian could feel a slight evidence of that kiss starting to press against him. It made him smirk, and even when cullen moved away from him Dorian couldn’t help but look more than a bit amused, “Don’t be sorry,” he chuckled before he reached out to grab one of Cullen’s bruised hands to kiss at the knuckles, “I’ll get you those pants. Hang on.”

A quick trip to his closet got him those same pants so Dorian could hold them out, “You sure you won’t need help with the water?” he teased, “because I can poke my head in and make sure, if you want.”

\------

_Wouldn't that just be…_

“Erm… no, I'm sure I've got it under control this time,” he said, grabbing the pants from Dorian's outstretched hand. He may have allowed his fingers to linger a bit longer on Dorian's fingers than was strictly necessary, but he took the offered garment and entered the bathroom.

 _Control. Sure. I'm under control,_ he thought with a small snort as he looked in the mirror. His left cheek was swollen, an angry purple welt rising from his cheekbone. He raised a hand and ran fingers delicately over the injury.

_Ouch. That's… not gonna be pretty tomorrow. Not gonna be able to play for a while. I'll scare everyone like this…_

But somehow, he wasn't scaring Dorian… and not just with his injured face. He hadn't scared Dorian away with, well, anything. He wondered at that for a moment, how it felt to have found someone who just… accepted him. More than accepted him, really, if all the kisses and gentle touches and flirtatious innuendo were to be believed.

_Sure you won't need help with that water…?_

“Maker…” Cullen groaned softly as the image of all that perfect caramel skin under running water - under his fingers, wrapping around him, sliding against him - came to mind.

_Deep breaths. Control, remember? You aren't even sure how you feel… how he feels._

But that was mostly a lie, at least where his own heart was concerned. Whatever this feeling was, it had grown so quickly he hadn't noticed. Dorian had just become a part of his life. And, if nothing else, he wanted the man... in almost every sense of the word. Wanted his kindness. Wanted his humor. Wanted his affections. Wanted _him_.

He undressed and did indeed manage to work the shower without needing to call for Dorian to come to the rescue.

\------

When the other man disappeared into the bathroom Dorian dropped himself on the bed and buried his face in the pillow. He was tired. Maybe it had been good Cullen had declined, after all. After everything, neither of them were probably in the best shape to be trying for anything particularly animated anyway. Dorian took a deep breath then, sat up on his elbows, and reached out to grab his phone. It wasn’t ridiculously late, but late enough that getting up in the morning was going to be awful.

He chewed on that for a moment, also his thumb nail, and cast a glance over at the closed over bathroom door. A night with Cullen with no worry about something to do the following morning? He could get on board with that. Again, Dorian looked down at his phone and flicked through his contacts until it came to Josephine’s name. He stared at it for a moment, contemplating his day, and licked his lips. No real appointments, other than the usual, and they could always be rescheduled. The kids in the collection archives could just _email_ him, after all. They’d probably be glad to not see him stalking in and asking about his clients’ pieces anyway.

“Fuck it.”

_[Send Message: Josephine 1:22AM] Not feeling so hot. probs not coming in tmrw. sorry_

He sent it with a quick press of the button and put the phone on the bed beside him. Okay. Now he could relax a bit. So he peeled out of his clothes, down to his underwear like he did every night, and curled in under the covers. Sleep. Sleep next to Cullen. That sounded like the best idea at the moment.

_[Josephine (1:25AM)]: K. Feel better. Call me tomorrow and let me know how ur doing. :)_

Of course she’d be up this late. Dorian chuckled for that and switched his phone off before putting it on the table beside the bed. There. Now he had all day to enjoy, or recover, whichever ended up happening.

\------

The water ran over Cullen in rivulets as he contemplated Dorian's… collection of soaps and sundry bath supplies. Maker, what did one man need all this for? Ah well, Cullen was hardly in a position to judge. He picked up a bottle he was reasonably certain was shower gel, opened it and sniffed.

It smelled like Dorian. His knees went a bit weak at that.

_Just… just shower and go to sleep._

He soaped up a washcloth with the gel and began washing off. Dorian's scent was everywhere now, amplified by the steam rolling from the hot water. Cullen's skin tingled where he dragged the cloth over it, overly sensitive and wanting to be touched. His… excitement… was apparent, and the way things were going, showed no signs of abating.

He closed his eyes then, dropping the cloth and just raking his short nails across pale skin, his mind's eye seeing Dorian's hands roaming his body. Surrounded by his scent as Cullen was, it wasn't difficult.

A low groan escaped his lips. There was nothing for it. He'd have to take matters into his own hands if he was going to be able to lie next to Dorian without doing something they both might regret later.

His grip was strong, sure, and again, he imagined those hands, tipped with nails lacquered black, touching him _there_.

It wasn't long before he was biting his hand to keep from crying out. _Dorian_.

And then it was done. He felt a little guilty, but he also felt more together. Less anxious. More like he could relax into Dorian's arms without his imagination getting in the way.

He quickly washed his hair - Dorian was in for a show in the morning, but Maker, it needed it. Cullen grabbed another of Dorian's ridiculously large towels, dried off and got dressed. Well, that was stretching it. He pulled on the pair of sweatpants, at least.

Cullen took another look at himself in the mirror and laughed. He had no idea what made Dorian so interested in him. Pink skin. Curls he couldn't control. Rising bruise, though that was thankfully temporary. He'd never thought of himself as attractive, and right now… well, his current state did nothing to change that opinion.

 _Aren't you just a picture,_ he thought as he walked into the bedroom.

\------

The door opening made Dorian look up from where he was half dozing. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face for the sight of the other man, fresh and pink from the shower with all those wet curls, and he patted the spot beside him. “Come here,” Dorian chuckled as he sat up a bit. The man was a sight to behold, surely. Bruised as he was, which wasn’t so good, Dorian couldn’t help still loving how Cullen looked. Those unruly curls were going to be the death of him.

\------

As he approached the bed, Cullen couldn't help but feel a little self conscious, nervous about being so bare and guilty for what he'd just done in someone else's shower. It struck him as funny that, after everything that had happened that night, this was the thing that made him feel… shy.

He realized then that he'd forgotten to check - he hoped beyond hope that he hadn't left any nail tracks across his stomach as evidence of what had just happened.

_Come here._

_I just did_ , he thought with a chuckle he couldn't suppress as he crawled into bed next to Dorian.

“Yes, sir,” he smiled as he laid back on the pillow, holding a hand out to Dorian to join him.

\------

As Cullen settled in bed, Dorian moved in and curled up against his chest. Between the heat of his skin and the warmth from the shower Cullen was amazingly warm, which was something Dorian absolutely loved. He’d leech heat like a lizard on a rock if anyone let him, and Dorian curled his legs through the other man’s as he buried his face in against that still warm and damp chest. That was nice. “Feeling any better?” he asked, “your eye’s going to be swollen tomorrow.”

\------

Cullen thought on that for a moment, probably taking the question a bit further than Dorian had intended. He knew Dorian was likely asking whether he felt better after all the craziness of the evening, but he couldn’t help but make it a bigger question than that.

Did he feel better… even just a little bit… about everything? He knew himself. He knew he struggled with maintaining an even keel, and that his mood may shift tomorrow or the day after - often for no good reason - but for right now, did he _feel better_?

“Mm,” he voiced as he kissed the top of Dorian's head, loving the feeling of that silky hair brushing his face, “I really do.”

\------

Good. Dorian sighed, happily taking in the feeling so soft and clean skin against his face, and curled an arm around Cullen’s shoulder. He could turn the lights off in a few minutes. This was good just for now. “I’m glad,” he murmured, “we’ll put some ice on it tomorrow.”

His fingers brushed between the other man’s shoulders and along his spine a little. Dorian liked the feeling of being in close like that. There was something about all the warmth, that bit of extra meat to Cullen, and even the touches of soft and fuzzy hair on his chest that tickled Dorian’s nose. He’d never been much or one to snuggle up, preferring instead to make some excuse to send them on their way after so he could have his bed to himself, but this wasn’t the typical equally-aloof and overly toned man that Dorian usually had. Cullen was so…

Not typical, and yet incredibly normal at the same time.

Anyway, he could meditate on his desire for that closeness later. He was happy to enjoy the luxury while he had it.

\------

Cullen melted into that embrace, that touch, delighting in the feeling of warm skin on skin. Dorian's fingers running down his back brought back that tingly, fluttering feeling and he felt his chest expanding with that slow spread of warmth. He tightened his grip on Dorian for a moment, burying his face in soft black hair as he breathed deeply, in and out.

But Dorian had mentioned tomorrow, hadn't he? A bit of that warmth faded when he remembered what he'd have to leave this bed, this safety, for in the morning. What he'd be going back to.

“I imagine you'll need me out fairly early so you can go to work….,” he tried very hard not to sound as miserable as that idea made him.

\------

“Not at all,” he murmured against Cullen’s chest, “three day weekend for me. I’m planning on sleeping in quite late, if we can manage it.” Dorian lifted his head then and smiled a bit, “unless you have somewhere to be.”

\------

_Oh, thank the Maker._

He'd have to go back eventually, but Cullen was glad to have a reprieve from that awful apartment and that dingy life… especially if it meant more time with the the man drifting off in his arms.

“Oh, I do, actually…”

\------

One eyebrow arched for that, “Really?” Dorian asked. Honestly, he hadn’t expected that. Well, if that was the case he had a whole day to lie in bed and try to not think too hard about Cullen in his lap or those kisses before. Though, who was he kidding? Odds were good that particular memory was going to be front and center for a while. “Do I need to set an alarm for you, then?” he offered.

\------

Cullen pulled away just far enough to meet Dorian's gaze, smiling warmly at the confusion that played around the man's features. It was… Maker, it was so _cute_ , and he fought the urge to just wrap the man back in his arms and squeeze him for all he was worth.

“Oh yes, somewhere very important,” he chuckled as he pressed a curled finger under Dorian's chin, tilting that adorably confused face up towards his own, “right here, in fact.”

He leaned in then and kissed Dorian, all sweetness and tender caring.

\------

Dorian chuckled through the kiss and wound himself a bit more completely around Cullen, “Somehow I should have guessed,” he teased against warm, scarred lips, “just watch getting all that syrup on the linens.”

\------

“Had you going for a second, did I?” Cullen smiled, wrapping his arm back around Dorian to let his fingers nestle in his hair. The texture was so unlike his own - so smooth! - he couldn't help it. He was pretty sure Dorian wouldn't mind mussed hair now. He had no one to impress here. Cullen was already impressed. Very much so.

\------

“You may have,” he agreed with a laugh and pulled Cullen closer so Dorian was on his back with Cullen curled up next to him. That, he liked a lot. “If you really _don’t_ have anywhere to go, then maybe we could stay in for a while? I think we could both do with a long sleep in and maybe some lazy breakfast?” Dorian murmured as he buried his face in the other man’s neck, “or lunch. Or both.”

“Mmmm… sounds like a plan,” Cullen replied, sleep creeping back into his voice. He hooked his leg around one of Dorian’s and let his hand drag slowly up the man's stomach to come to rest on his chest. He liked how the man felt under his hands, all warm and soft and comfortable. He felt himself drifting off in that warmth and snuggled in closer.


	9. Do Not Pass Go [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Cullen cross a line.

The following morning was a slightly confused one. Dorian woke, not to the sound of his alarm, but to a car alarm out on the road. That wasn’t abnormal. What _was_ abnormal was the feeling of a dip in the bed beside him. What _was_ abnormal was the feeling of arms curled around him. He grunted, one hand lifting to rub at his face, and turned to look down at the mop of unruly curls that were poked out above the mess of blankets that had been pulled free from under the mattress and bunched up around them. The bed felt like a warm nest, which was hardly unpleasant, though it took Dorian a moment to remember what had happened.

Right. Of course. The man was the only one to actually sleep in Dorian’s bed in a long while. Of course it was him. It was Cullen, serious faced even in sleep, with his larger body molded at Dorian’s side. They were smack in the middle of the bed, piled together like dogs in a kennel, and it was...comforting. Granted, Dorian’s back didn’t quite love sleeping like that for the entire night, but it was certainly nice. The hand not rubbing at his eyes moved to ruffle those soft curls, and Dorian bent to kiss the top of his head. 

They had all day. Dorian could lie there and take it in for as long as he wanted, really, and he actually had every intention to. He took a breath and moved just enough to curl up on his side with his face snuggled into the crook of Cullen’s neck. That helped his back from hurting, anyway. His joints popped at the sudden movement, which felt a bit like heaven, and he slung one arm over Cullen’s waist. There. He could sleep for a few more hours just like this.

\------

Cullen jerked awake, eyes wide and searching wildly as the remnants of the nightmare faded.

_Dark… it's so dark. Where am I? Where? What did I do last night?_

A haze of panic blanketed his mind. The nightmare had been horrible, as it always was, and he was spinning out of context in the darkness. His head pounded with each quick heartbeat.

_Maker, no. Did I use again?_

And then he heard a soft breathing coming from just under his chin, felt an arm wrapped around him, felt his own arms wrapped around the warm figure lying curled up with him.

The panic abated and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He tightened his grip on the man and relaxed back into their little cocoon of blankets and comfort. Had he been alone, he knew he'd be up now, pacing the floor, trying to rid himself of the memory of the nightmare. Her screams. The sound of crunching metal. Her broken figure, somehow smiling up at him, comforting _him_.

_You'll be ok. I love you._

He hadn't been ok. He hadn't been ok at all. But now, his world had shifted, and he suddenly felt like maybe he _could_ be.

To his surprise, he felt himself dozing again, mind going fuzzy despite the pain there, as he relished the feeling of Dorian around him.

\------

Grey eyes opened when Dorian so noted that Cullen’s heartbeat had picked up. He felt him jerk, which was probably par for the course if he was feeling sore and waking in a place he didn’t know that well yet. Dorian didn’t do well with staying in places that weren’t ‘home’ to him, too. The arm around Cullen tightened in kind to how the other man clutched at him, and Dorian pressed a kiss just shy of a patch of fuzzy blond hair over one pec.

“Easy,” he murmured, “you’re alright.”

\------

“mmmmmmm,” Cullen rumbled in general agreement. He flopped over on his stomach then, burying his face in his pillow and wincing at the pressure that put on his face. It was far too soon after waking to form coherent sentences, especially after having The Nightmare.

Once upon a time, he had been one of those “morning people,” rising early and ready to face the day. He had to be - he’d had students to wrangle and classes to prepare for. These days, though, his sleep was restless, constantly interrupted by street noises and his roommates coming in at all hours and The Nightmare, so even that aspect of him had changed. He needed at least an hour before he was decent company, so he just laid there for now, hooking his foot around Dorian's to maintain contact as he allowed himself to drift in and out of consciousness.

“Nightmare,” he finally explained, voice thick with sleep and muffled by the pillow, “Sorry if I woke you.”

\------

“You didn’t,” he answered and trailed his fingers along Cullen’s back. Dorian propped his head up on his arm to watch the steady rise and fall of Cullen’s chest, and he smiled to himself as he traced shapes and nonsense words into his skin with his fingertips. “I’m usually up by now anyway,” Dorian explained and raked his short nails gently along the other man’s spine.

He was quiet for a long few moments, keen to just touch Cullen for a while in what he hoped was a comforting way, before he leaned in and kissed the other man’s shoulder. His skin was still warm, which was nice, and Dorian curled in against his side in very much a mirror to the way Cullen had been curled up against him during the night.

\------

No, Cullen wasn't a “morning person,” but Maker, he could get used to this. The dream’s hold on him finally evaporated as he felt Dorian's fingers ranging over his back, sending little shivers down his spine. It tickled and tingled in all the right ways, pulling him out of that funk he felt every morning. His head still ached, nothing for that since he'd declined the offer of ice in favor of comfort last night, but the rest of his body relaxed. He hadn't even realized the dream had left him so tense.

Then Dorian curled in against him, and he regretted the decision to lie on his stomach. He turned his head to look at Dorian through one open eye.

“Good morning, then,” he murmured with a sleepy smile.

\------

“Morning,” Dorian greeted with a small smile before he leaned in for a kiss, “you’re rather adorable first thing, did you know that?”

\------

_Adorable?_

Well, there’s something Cullen had never been called, at least not before noon. He raised his eyebrow, skepticism painted on his drowsy, bruised face.

“Wrong. Nice of you to say, but wrong,” he replied, “I'm afraid you may have to have your eyes checked.”

Because really, if anyone in that bed was adorable, it was Dorian, with his hair all mussed and his mustache out of sorts. It was… sweet to see him like this.

\------

That made him chuckle and Dorian leaned in for another kiss, “I’ve managed to narrowly avoid glasses so far,” he teased, “now… how are you feeling? Did you want some coffee and maybe an Elfroot? Might make your face hurt a little less.”

\------

Cullen twisted around again to face Dorian as he thought on that. How did he feel?

Honestly, the fact that he was lying in bed next to Dorian made his head spin a bit. It was so… good… which was entirely at odds with everything else in his life, even the events that led up to his being here right now. It was all a little unbelievable. He didn't want the other shoe to drop, as much as he might suspect that it would, sooner or later.

For now, though, he felt wonderful, despite the dull roar in his head, though caffeine and pain relievers wouldn't be remiss. But that meant _getting up._ He weighed the options in his mind as he laid his hand on Dorian's hip, thumb stroking the crest of the bone there.

“Just a little headache. But I'm fine... “ he started, but was cut off by the sound of his own stomach growling. He hadn't had anything to eat since… when _was_ the last time he'd eaten?

Eyes wide, he laughed, a bit embarrassed.

“Scratch that. Apparently, I'm starving. Any eggs in that fridge? I'll make us some breakfast.”

\------

“I may actually have some eggs,” he chuckled and leaned in to bury his face in the crook of Cullen’s neck so he could take in the feel and the smell of him so early. There was that clean scent from the soap, but Dorian genuinely liked just how the man’s skin smelled and _tasted_ after they’d spent the night curled up together.

He pressed soft kisses to that soft skin, a contented sigh escaping him, and Dorian nodded after a while, “You breakfast, I’ll coffee and get you something for your head. Good trade, you think?”

\------

Maker, but those little kisses were getting to him. Dorian was certainly not making the prospect of leaving this bed very appealing. The feeling of all that skin under his fingers was just too nice, too nice by far to just get up and walk away from.

Still, he didn’t want to think about how awful that headache was going to be if he _didn’t_ get up and eat something soon. Besides, they did have all day. Perhaps they’d find their way back here at some point. Maybe.

“You know, you’re not making it easy here. To want to get out of bed, I mean,” Cullen replied, kissing the top of Dorian’s head as he squeezed him in a bit tighter, “But that sounds like a plan.”

\------

Dorian smiled and kissed his way up to Cullen’s ear. Really, what else was he supposed to do? They’d slept, after all. Cullen seemed more or less alright, and Dorian really liked having that warm skin under his lips. “Getting out of bed isn’t my strong point,” he offered, “waking up? Sure. But give me a day off, and I’ll lie in bed until three in the afternoon and feel no shame.”

One hand smoothed up Cullen’s side until it cupped his bruised face gently, and Dorian kissed him, “but we should get something for all this. Fun as it is, you lying here with a headache isn’t what I want.”

\------

“It’s not what I want, either, but if you keep doing that…” he let his voice trail off, not quite brave enough to finish the thought. What? What would he do if Dorian kept on with the little touches and kisses that were sending shivers down his spine?

He gave a nervous little cough and added, “Let’s go check on that egg situation, yes?”

\------

“Fine,” he grumbled and pressed one more kiss to Cullen’s cheek. Maker, but he could have stayed there and kissed the man all day. It had been a while since Dorian had done that. Just a whole day to be lazy and enjoy each other? Maybe... maybe Cullen would like that.

Dorian dragged himself from bed then and pulled on a t-shirt that was hanging over the back of his reading chair. That was good enough for now. He stretched, going up on his toes as his arms raised over his head, and Dorian yawned widely. “I’ll make the bed later,” he told Cullen, “breakfast first. I’d love something that’s not just dry scrambled eggs and either too-burnt or underdone toast.”

\------

Watching Dorian stretch like that, Cullen realized he’d made two decisions already that he’d regretted, all before getting out of bed. It had to be a record.

“Bread. Underdone toast is usually just called bread,” Cullen teased as he finally pulled away from the bed’s warmth. He stood then and it was his turn to stretch, wincing as he heard his joints complaining and popping. “I’ll do my best, but that all depends on what I have to work with.”

He walked to the door and held it open, “After you, sir.”

\------

That made Dorian smile, and he kissed Cullen’s cheek as he padded past him and set to getting the coffee ready. The dishes from the night before were still there, which he tossed in the sink with a wrinkling of his nose, but he didn’t care too much. Something warm and caffeinated would definitely make things better. “My kitchen is yours to use,” he offered with a bit of a bow and a flourish, “have at it.”

He moved to the freezer to dig out some ice, which he poured into a plastic bag. That would cut down on a wet mess, anyway. “There’s ice in here for you when you want it,” Dorian told him, “I’d hate to try to make you rifle through the cabinets one handed.”

\------

“Thanks,” Cullen replied, washing his hands. He liked being in a kitchen again. A proper kitchen, not the sad little kitchenette with the two gas burners and a toaster oven that was waiting for him once this day ended.

_Nope. How about we don't think about that right now?_

He found it easy to push that out of his mind as his hands got busy. He poked around cabinets for a while, just orienting himself, then opened the fridge.

He laughed. He couldn't help himself. Dorian's fridge was nearly as bare as his own, though what the man did have was far more high end and, apparently, all organic. Bottles of wine and various odds and ends populated the fridge. He'd have to get creative.

He grabbed the eggs (free range!) and inspected the rest of the items in there. Tucked in the back were some sundried tomatoes - _nice_ \- and, Maker, was that goat cheese? He grabbed those items, too, quite pleased with the find, and eyeballed the carton of milk. That got picked up, as well. Hopefully, it was still good. He deposited the ingredients on the counter.

“Bowls?” he turned to ask Dorian as he reached for a pan hanging from the rack

\------

“Mixing bowls are the bottom cabinet by the oven and regular bowls are up,” he answered with a quick point, “do I get to know what you’re making or is it a surprise?” Dorian was leaning on the counter, bent over with his chin in his hand as he watched Cullen. He probably looked a mess, all fluffy hair and mussed mustache, but this was actually comfortable. Dorian didn’t feel the need to run for the shower and come out completely dressed and pressed. He’d never really been with someone that he felt that comfortable around.

Then again, Cullen had shared quite a bit the night before. Maybe that was why.

\------

“You're a smart guy. You'll figure it out soon enough,” Cullen replied as he bent over to retrieve a mixing bowl. He stood again, pushing hair out of his face with an annoyed “hmph.” What he needed was a hair tie, but he didn't know if…

His eyes rested then on Dorian's wrist, and there it was, just as it had been in the cab last night, one of the hair bands Dorian was so fond of snatching.

Cullen approached the counter with a little smirk, reaching out for Dorian's hand. He held it for just a moment, let his fingers brush over the back of his hand, and then slipped that tie off his wrist.

“I'll just take this back now, thank you,” he chuckled. Cullen rolled his shoulders to work out a bit of the stiffness there, then reached up behind his head, gathering his hair into a twisted knot at the crown of his head.

When he was done, he grinned over at Dorian, “... unless you like hair in your breakfast?”

\------

When Cullen came closer, Dorian was ready to be pulled in close and kissed only in the ways romantic comedies had taught him people kissed over making breakfast. A smirk had touched his face, though it fell into a mock scandalized frown when Cullen merely pulled the hair tie from his wrist. “I was keeping that for a reason, you know,” he all but pouted, though he couldn’t take his eyes off of how Cullen moved to tie his hair back.

_Oh, the things I’d do to you._

Suddenly his mind was full of a hundred ways he’d love to gently pull that hair out of the bun and muss it with his fingers. Or tangle it up in his fist and pull it. That... that was going to get him in trouble in half a second if he didn’t curb that train of thought _immediately._

He cleared his throat, face a bit flushed, and shook his head, “I... no hair in the food,” Dorian managed, though his voice was just a bit low and thick with... well, all those ideas. “No hair is preferable,” he went on, “lovely as yours is.”  

\------

“I thought so,” Cullen teased, then cut his eyes to the side as he started cracking eggs. “You can always snatch it back later. You seem to have a talent for it.”

There was something in Dorian's tone and wide eyes that gave Cullen pause. What had he done? He just pulled his hair back… with no shirt on. He felt a flush creeping up his chest and neck then and couldn't suppress a grin as he grabbed a whisk from the little canister of utensils on the counter.

“I'll never understand your need to steal them though,” he commented as he sniffed the milk - good, it was fresh - and poured some into the eggs. “Unlike mine, your hair seems to be under control… most of the time.” He reached over and ruffled the fluff on Dorian’s head. So not like the Dorian he knew, but so damn cute.

\------

Both eyes closed for how that hand felt in his hair, and Dorian smiled a little wider, “I should run and fix it before you think less of me,” he admitted, “come out all dressed and put together, hm?”

\------

“No, it's cute,” Cullen replied before he could stop himself. It was, but he wasn't sure Dorian wanted to hear that Cullen thought him _cute_. He got busy heating some olive oil in the pan and poured half the egg mixture in when it was hot enough. “I mean, you don't have to. I like you like this. Not that you being ‘put together’ isn't good, too. Maker, I'll shut up now.”

\------

 _Cute_ was certainly a new one. Dorian cocked an eyebrow as he watched the other man move, and chuckled a bit before he wiped a hand over his face, “You may be the first to say so,” he commented, “not a lot of people I know like the ‘real’ version. A few of them might actually consider it a dealbreaker.”

\------

“That's just… a little superficial. Their loss, right?” Cullen replied as he added the tomatoes, goat cheese, and some salt and pepper. He was silent for a bit, waiting for the eggs to cook before folding them over deftly. “Plates?”

\------

His eyebrow only arched higher for that. _Superficial_? Not that it was wrong, but it stung a bit to hear the word out loud. Most of Dorian’s relationships, save for maybe Felix and Sera and a few others, were superficial. He hadn’t needed more than that. A quick call, a quick fuck, and he was ready to be on his way for a while. There was nothing wrong with that.

Right? Of course right. He’d been doing it that way for years, after all.

“Uh... cabinet next to the bowls,” he answered with a quick wave of his hand before he got up to grab down some mugs for coffee, “did you want to eat in here or the couch, maybe?”

\------

For better or worse, they'd spent a lot of time on that couch. He'd shared a hell of a lot more of himself than he had in a good long while on that couch. They'd kissed, wrapped up in each other on that couch.

It was high on Cullen's list of favorite places to be. “The couch, if that's ok.”

He grabbed plates and made short work of the second omelet while Dorian got the coffee ready. He turned with the two plates and smiled.

“Breakfast is served.”

\------

He made sure to put a good amount of milk and sugar into both mugs before going back over and settling in on the couch. That remark still smarted a bit, more than he’d expected it to, but Dorian couldn’t let it ruin the morning. It was still early, after all, and neither of them had any coffee yet. It was fine. Fine.

Dorian smiled and reached out a hand to rest on Cullen’s knee, “It smells fantastic,” he offered, “thank you.”

\------

Cullen warmed at that hand on his knee as he put the plates and forks in front of them on the table. “Ahh, it should do,” as they began eating Cullen eyed his guitar, still where he'd put it when he’d asked if he could kiss Dorian after his ridiculous gesture last night. In the light of day, he was suitably embarrassed for having done that. Still, that kiss had followed, so it wasn't entirely fruitless. His cheeks flushed remembering that kiss, and he wondered what the rest of the day would bring.

“What's on the agenda today?”

\------

The eggs were good. Very good. Better than what Dorian could have made. That helped to make him feel a bit more... normal. More awake and less bristly, anyway. Having a full stomach and coffee was usually one of the best ways to clear Dorian’s bad mood. After breakfast, a shower would probably help to wash any of it that lingered. He had a feeling it would go away on its own, anyway.

“Oh, not much,” he answered, “I had no plans. Just... stay here, if you wanted? Or go find something to get into?”

Dorian turned to study those bruises then, “whatever you’re up to, hm? If anything.”

\------

The eggs could have done with some onion and garlic and maybe some fruit or hashbrowns to round out the meal, but Cullen wasn't about to complain. This was miles better than his typical breakfast, which was usually scrounged up and sometimes non-existent. Again, he was reminded that this little bubble of domestic warmth was set to pop and he'd have to go back to his sad little futon.

_Later._

He was loathe to leave, partly because of the pain his bruised cheek was causing him and partly because he had no clean clothes, but mostly because, for one day at least, he wanted Dorian all to himself. He wanted to forget his life back at Samson's for just a while. He didn't even want to go get his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, still on the bathroom floor.

_I bet Samson's messaged me by now. I don't care. He can message all he likes._

“I believe I've gotten into enough,” he replied, a little sheepishly, “A day lazing around sounds about perfect,” he coughed and looked down, “.... considering the company.”

\------

Well, that certainly eased over any lingering concern from that ‘superficial’ comment. Who didn’t like being told that, after all? Dorian smiled, something slow and easy, and he picked up his coffee to take a drink from it. This was most certainly better than the oatmeal-porridge situation he had in the mornings. “Well,” he mused as he took another drink, “there’s always bad movies and scrounging for lunch. I might go put on some laundry and can toss your stuff in with mine, if you want?”

\------

“Oh yes, my life has been woefully lacking in bad movies recently,” Cullen laughed, but it was kind of a sad truth. Rabbit ears only picked up so much, after all, and cable was an extravagance he couldn't afford. They'd leeched wifi from a neighbor for a while… until they caught on and put a password on their network.

He took another bite of his breakfast and nodded as he swallowed, “And, uh, it'll be nice not to have to put dirty clothes back on. Thanks.”

\------

He nodded and reached out to put his mug-warmed hand on Cullen’s knee for a moment before going back to his eggs. This was already a better weekend at-home breakfast than he’d ever made for himself. Usually at-home breakfasts included chocolate croissants or pastries from the local bakery with bloody marys that had too much vodka in. “No problem,” Dorian told him with a small smile, “so long as you don’t mind hanging out like that for the day.”

That made that smile turn to something slightly more wicked, “I can’t say I’d mind seeing it.”

\------

Dorian got a bit of a flush as reward for that comment. Cullen still wasn’t sure exactly what it was that Dorian saw in him, but he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pleased. Remembering the way Dorian kissed him back last night, he couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased at all.

He popped the last bite in his mouth and leaned back on the couch, coffee in hand, smiling back though he knew he was blushing. “It’s the hair, right?”

\------

“It’s partially the hair,” he agreed as he finished his own plate, “but I also like this,” Dorian told him as he reached out to tangle his fingers in the downy blond hair that covered Cullen’s chest. Something about that drove him wild, despite the fact that most of the men he slept with waxed everything save their head and eyebrows. It was nice to be with... well, Cullen was as Ferelden as they came. “And that you’re not some over-yogaed thing,” he went on, “that gets old after a while.”

\------

Cullen felt his heartbeat speed up as those fingers twirled in his chest hair, pulling just _so_. The easy way Dorian reached out to touch him, as if it was just _normal,_ had him going a little, too. He felt… comfortable with Dorian. More than he had with anyone in years. Dorian brought out bits and pieces of who he used to be - someone who was confident and sure, someone who was direct in how he felt and didn’t mind asking for what he needed. Or wanted. He liked that. He liked feeling like that man again, even if it was fragmented and temporary.

Cullen sat back up, taking the last sip of his coffee and putting the mug on the table. He raised his eyebrows. “I do believe you just implied that I’m chubby,” he said in mock offense.

\------

Dorian smirked, “I implied that you’re not overly skinny,” he teased back and let his fingers drift lower until they grabbed a little at Cullen’s waist. True, he wasn’t the super trim ‘I-do-pilates-instead-of-weightlift-so-I-don’t-look-gross’ kind of guy, but Dorian liked that bit extra to him. It made him feel real. Unbreakable. “Like you could pick me up and hardly think about it,” Dorian went on, “I like that.”

\------

It was a good thing that Cullen had finished his coffee. He might have choked on it as thoughts of picking Dorian up and _why_ he might have cause to pick Dorian up flooded his mind. Legs-wrapped-around-him-against-a-wall type thoughts. The type of thoughts that could make wearing only a pair of sweatpants embarrassing in a heartbeat, especially with the way Dorian was pawing at his waistline. He was going to have a situation on his hands soon if he didn’t stop this train.

“I’m fairly certain I’d be thinking about it,” he said with a little smirk.

Well, that wasn’t stopping anything, let alone a train. Still, he’d have to stop it at some point, wouldn’t he? He didn’t really _know_ anything, least of all what this was between them. If it was anything.

Maker, he wanted it to be something.

\------

Dorian gathered up the plates and smirked as he got to his feet, “I’m fairly certain I’d like you to,” he offered with a wink as he moved to put up the dishes. They’d slept now, after all. Cullen seemed to have most of his faculties back online, was less upset, and while bruised not nearly as pained as he’d been the night before. Perhaps they should talk a little more, though talking wasn’t Dorian’s thing, but for the moment he was much happier to make them both smile.

Besides, Cullen’s mouth was made for smiling. That scar, for all the pain it embodied, made him look that much more handsome when it happened. Dorian would have rather liked to lick it during a heavy session of making out. No one had ever accused him of being terribly _good_ , after all, save for Cullen. Bless him.

Now, though, they’d had the whole day to make this thing something that wasn’t an awkward coffee date or an evening that would end in some kind of emotional crisis. Well, hopefully. Easy. Dorian wanted to let this day be something good because Cullen deserved something good. If it was just movies on the couch with a few more of those heated kisses, then that was fine. If it was more, then Dorian certainly wouldn’t complain. Something good, anyway.

He grabbed out the bag of ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a clean tea towel, then moved around the back of the couch to gently press it against Cullen’s cheek while he leaned over and kissed his other cheek. Dorian nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s neck, smiling as he did so, “This should help a little,” he murmured just loudly enough for Cullen to hear him.

\------

_I'm fairly certain I'd like you to._

Cullen was lost in thought, wondering if that meant Dorian no longer considered him pitiful enough that he could be taken advantage of. He found the idea both exciting and a bit terrifying, truth be told. He discovered that he'd been relying on the man's word as a safety net. All the kissing and holding wasn't going anywhere because Dorian said it wouldn't, and Dorian was a nice man. Flirty, but nice.

Without that safety net, Cullen knew he'd have some questions to answer if things got… heated. Was he ready for that? He'd opened up last night, sure, but getting physical, sharing himself in that way was different. He was never one for casual… anything… and he still wasn't sure what was growing there. Should he put on the brakes then? Slow down until he knew? That would be the safest course of action. Old Cullen was nothing if not safe.

He jumped a little at Dorian's touch, felt something cold at his cheek, and then Dorian's warm breath at his neck as he spoke. Despite the cold - which felt wonderful against his aching cheek, but bracing - he felt his joints go loose.

Could he put the brakes on, even if he decided to?

“Oh, that's nice,” he murmured as his eyes closed, hand moving to stroke the hair at the back of Dorian's head. He wasn't sure if he meant the ice or the feeling of warm breath against his skin.

\------

“I thought it might feel good,” he agreed against that soft skin before he pressed another kiss just at Cullen’s hairline, “did you want something for the headache?” Now that they were both a bit more awake it made more sense to offer again. The way goosebumps popped up along Cullen’s skin, whether it was for the kisses or the ice, was rather fun to watch. What he wouldn’t give to make those pop up all over for other reasons.

The hand in his own hair was nice, too. Dorian rather liked that. One of the reasons he kept some of it shaved closer was because the feeling of fingers tangled in it was such a turn on. It looked great, of course, but that was an added bonus he hadn’t expected when he’d cut it that way the first time.

\------

_Kiss him._

_No, don’t. At least sort this out first._

Cullen’s hand dropped, tensing into a fist as his other rose to take the compress from Dorian. With effort, he fought the urge to pull the other man over the back of the couch and into his lap. He could. What was it Dorian had said? Like he was hardly even thinking about it?

“I…” he cleared his throat, not liking the edge in his voice or how it was cast so low, “Yes, I’d like that. And some water. Please.”

Cold water. Preferably dumped on his head.

\------

He nodded and straightened back up. This felt good. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone over where they almost acted normal. Then again, the only people who ever stayed into the morning were Sera and Dagna after a night out, but that was beside the point. This was almost reminiscent of his Uni days, of living in the dormitories at school, where he finally felt normal around his roommates. No airs to put on, mostly because they all had things they had to hide at home that they didn’t at school, and Dorian had felt free for the first time.

This was a lot like that.

He grabbed out the elfroot tablets as well as a glass of water and hummed softly to himself for a moment. Cullen had told him a lot about his life the night before, things that (presumably) not a lot of other people know, and that was... well, it was not unlike those nights when truths had come out amongst the group of boys he’d known since childhood. Hardly anything that came out like that was good, but it had been freeing, and Dorian wondered how many people Cullen had tried to explain it all to and had been shut down. For how he’d been the night before, he suspected a few.

Despite everything, it actually felt good to know he wasn’t the only one who had gone through a time where he’d only barely held it all together. Things were better now, but that hadn’t been easy. Not even Sera and Dagna or Josephine and Leliana knew the full extent of things. He made comments, mostly in jest, and if they noticed anything they never commented on it. Not really. And he never said anything to the men he... knew. Slept with. The men he met and only saw again when there was a mutual need to get off. They hardly knew anything beyond his name and maybe where he lived should they end up back at his flat.

Cullen had told him much and Dorian hadn’t given him anything back other than a bit of physical comfort. Then again, maybe that was all the other man needed. Sometimes just a listening ear and someone to stick around was better than someone trying to try and solve the problem. Back then, that had been all Dorian wanted, too.

He came back with the water and medicine to the couch, set them both down on the table, and smiled, “these should help,” Dorian offered, “how’s the ice feel?”

\------

“Good. Definitely better,” Cullen said as he grabbed the medicine and glass of water. He took it with a large swallow of water and set the glass back down, relaxing back into the cushions of the couch and holding the compress to his cheek. “I didn’t even realize how much it hurt until now. I should have listened to you and iced it last night, I suppose.”

He shot a sheepish grin at Dorian then. “Then again, I guess we both know I wasn’t exactly thinking last night.”

\------

Like before, Dorian reached out a hand to rest on Cullen’s knee, “Not about bruises, anyway,” he agreed, “are you… I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because that’s a stupid question, but how are you doing? After all that, I mean.”

\------

The concern in Dorian’s voice was just as warm as that hand on Cullen’s knee. That fluttery melty feeling washed over him again. There was definitely something there. At least for Cullen. He found himself hoping there might be something there for Dorian, too.

Despite everything wrong in his life, knowing that he stayed sober only on a day-to-day basis, knowing he'd slid many times before and might do so again, knowing that things going south in a relationship could wreck him, he still wanted to try. That was new.

If this could be called a relationship.

Still, Dorian's eyes and words were kind, his touch was warm, and his kisses were… tempting. Those were hallmarks of interest, right?

Even after last night, he was still there. That had to mean _something._

He flushed a bit, shame creeping in around the edges, as he thought of the fight, the arrest, him breaking down… singing _\- actually singing -_ to Dorian. Shit, he'd have run screaming from all of that had it been a different time in his life.

“I… you know, I feel better. For now,” he paused, “With… my situation, it's a ‘one day at a time’ thing. But it feels better to have gotten it out.”

He took a breath, “... and that you didn't ask me to leave. Once people learn they usually… well, I said it last night… it's hard to trust someone like me.”

\------ 

That made sense. His therapist, his actual therapist and not the ones from There, had told him that dealing with things never happened in a straight line or the way that people often wanted them to. Dorian still had bad days, even now, and he’d had to learn that every day was different. While that had always felt like bullshit advice, the taking it one day at a time, it did help to think of it that way. He nodded, squeezed Cullen’s knee a little, and leaned in a bit.

“Well, you know, I’m hardly qualified to offer any advice but I’ll listen if you ever need to just get it out,” he offered, “I know what it’s like to just need an ear and not someone who either tries to solve it all or tells you to suck it up.” Dorian smiled a little, something small and hopefully encouraging, “you’re a good guy who’s gone through some rough shit. Obviously you’re trying to make it right, which is more than a lot of people do.”

\------

_A good guy?_

Maybe once, but not any more. Cullen closed his eyes for just a moment as he struggled not to blurt out all the destructive inner thoughts in his mind all at once.

_I'm not. Weren't you listening?_

_I'm weak._

_I'm not worth your time. Why am I even here?_

His fists clenched and unclenched as he pushed those thoughts away. One normal day. He just wanted one normal day. It wouldn't do to turn this into another round of “Cullen dissolves into tears in Dorian's lap.” He wanted to move past the self pity. He was tired of hating himself. He wanted to see himself as Dorian saw him.

_A good guy._

“Thanks,” he finally said, voice a little choked, so he coughed to clear the remnants of his destructive thoughts from it, “It… well, I mean… it meant a lot. That you listened.”

\------

This time he leaned in and kissed Cullen’s unbruised cheek, “Anytime,” Dorian promised. Grey eyes studied Cullen’s face, and while Dorian knew just getting things off his chest wouldn’t magically cure him he did hope that it made him feel at least a little better. The man was too handsome and with too kind eyes to look so haunted all the time. “And, you know, you ever need someone to talk to or whatever if you’re having a rough time... call me,” he offered, “or bail you out. I’m pretty flexible.” He grinned to show his tease and gently butted his head against Cullen’s temple, “okay?”

\------

Again, Cullen found himself wondering at how someone like Dorian could be in his life. That day long ago when he first saw him on the train station… there was no way he could imagine a path that would lead to him unloading most of his demons on _that_ man’s shoulders. They were just too different. And Cullen wasn’t in the habit of unloading anything on anyone. He assumed that’s why, when he did, the dam cracked and everything flowed out of him like a rush of water.

Yet here he was, lounging on Dorian’s couch and contemplating whether he should lean in and kiss him for his kindness. Life was a very strange thing. His lips curled up a bit at that.

“You should be careful what you ask for,” he chuckled, “You might find yourself with a permanent tenant sleeping on your couch. A permanent, _needy_ tenant.”

\------

“I have zero doubts that I’d appreciate your contributions to the rent a lot more than your current roommates,” he teased, “but maybe save that until we know each other a bit better.” Dorian was still smiling though, “mutual domesticity has never been my forte.”

That, and his lifestyle didn’t really lend to roommates. He liked his things just so, had everything the way he wanted it, and the prospect of shifting things around only served to make his anxiety spike. No. Fun to joke about, but in practice it was... too much. So instead he leaned in and kissed Cullen’s cheek again before he wavered a moment and turned his head to press a soft peck against his lips.

\------

Cullen tucked that knowledge away, filed for consideration later. It was too early to be upset by that. He wasn't upset, right?

Right?

Still instead of chasing Dorian back to continue the kiss, he flashed the man a smile.

“I'm the leading authority on shitty roommates, trust me. It can be a challenge,” he stood up then, “If you'll excuse me, I believe I need to use the facilities.”

He really did. It had nothing to do with Dorian’s words. Right?

\------

Dorian blinked and let out a soft chuckle, “Sure,” before he leaned back and tucked his legs up under him. This was... definitely new. Cullen wasn’t at all like anyone else Dorian had met. It was actually rather sweet, and as he sat on the couch he couldn’t help but smile to himself as he thought on it.

Today was going to be a good day. He knew it would be. It just might take a push here and there to get them to it. That was easily done, though.

While he waited for Cullen, Dorian got up to freshen their cups of coffee and quickly put the dishes in the dishwasher. Should there be another round of scrounging for something to cook later, it wouldn’t do to have pans and plates everywhere, anyway. He leaned against the counter, fresh mug in hand, and sipped it thoughtfully. Cullen.

 _Cullen, Cullen, Cullen_.

\------

Cullen sighed as he relieved himself, chastising himself internally for being so sensitive. It was a joke. This was only their, what, third time hanging out? Just because Cullen was the type to fall fast and hard didn't mean Dorian was. He likely wasn't, given other things he'd said that morning.

_...you’re not some over-yogaed thing… that gets old after a while…_

_… that gets old after a while…_

Cullen wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it made his stomach feel a little heavy. He shook his head to clear it, trying, for once, to not overthink things. To not get so caught up on one or two little comments that he couldn't think about anything else.

As he washed his hands, his eyes strayed to the pile of clothes he'd left there last night. He knew he should check his phone, but that just made the weight in his stomach magnify.

Still, what if the courthouse had called? He should at least check for that.

As he knew it would be, the little notification light was blinking. Eager to rip him from this little tableau of happiness. He felt his heartbeat rise as he considered that light, breathing becoming more shallow as he turned the phone on.

15 messages from Samson. 15.

1 voicemail from a number he didn't know.

He scanned through the texts from Samson first. Just a bunch of “where the fuck are you”s that devolved into meaningless crap as Samson got more and more wasted throughout the night. The last one gave him pause though. It had just been sent, so maybe Samson had recovered a bit from whatever they were doing.

_[Samson (9:47AM)]: Look, man. Just tell me you're ok._

Cullen's eyebrows raised. Huh. He shot off a message back...

_[Cullen (10:00AM)]: I'm ok. Stayed with a friend and had my phone off. Sorry._

… and tried not to feel guilty for the little lie.

The voicemail was another story. He didn't know if he had the nerve to listen to it. He felt his palms go sweaty… it could be the court date. The day where he would show up, plead guilty, because he was and he wouldn't argue it for a second, and be given jail time or community service or both.

And wouldn't that put a stopper on whatever was brewing with Dorian?

His eyes searched about the bathroom. He really wasn't sure what he was looking for. Just _something._ Something to ground him. They rested on pill bottles.

 _No._ He thought, even as he picked them up.

 _Not here. Not now._ He thought as he read the labels.

And there it was. The medication the doctors had put him on after Ella. The medication he knew would slow his mind and calm him.

The medication he knew would send him back down into the void.

He breathed then, deep, and Dorian's voice was in his head.

_...you ever need someone to talk to or whatever if you’re having a rough time... call me…_

Hands shaking, he put the pill bottle down and walked out to the living room where Dorian was waiting.

“This… it's going to seem strange… but I want you to listen to a voicemail and tell me what it says. Please?” he knew his voice was uneven… plaintive… but he needed to not have to be the one to hear it. He needed it to come from someone he trusted. Someone he liked. Right now, Dorian's was the one and only name on that list.

\------

There had been a moment that Dorian had considered knocking to check on Cullen. He’d half pushed away from the counter, though he paused when the other man came out. Maker, he looked upset. Dorian frowned, was about to ask him what was wrong, and then…

A voicemail?

“Sure,” he answered without hesitation and nodded. Family maybe? Dorian hoped not. The roommates? Something like that?

He held out a hand for Cullen’s phone and quickly pressed it to his ear as he waited for the automated message to pick up. He set the mug he was holding down with his other hand and reached out for one of Cullen’s. Clearly this was something important, and he wanted to at least have that small connection to the man. It would be murder to wait for someone else to listen to a message and relay it back, after all.

“This is a message for Cullen Rutherford in regard to Case 14598X-B. Charges have been dropped, but you are to notify an officer that you have received this message and in the event that there are any further questions. You can reach an officer at the following number-”

The rest was a string of numbers and Dorian squeezed Cullen’s hand. He clicked off the message, though didn’t delete it, and handed back the phone, “That was the precinct,” he explained, “they dropped the charges from last night but you have to call them so they know you got the message.” A small smile touched his face, “that’s a good thing to wake up to, right?”

\------

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why? Why would that kid drop the charges? It took a moment for him to cycle his brain down enough to process the information, to make it real.

When it hit him, a weight he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying lifted and his knees gave way. He grabbed Dorian’s arm to steady himself as he let out a long breath and laughed. It was the only reaction he had to what had happened… what had _almost_ happened. He just laughed and wound his arms around Dorian’s waist and buried his face in his neck and breathed, “A very good thing to wake up to.

\------

He wound his arm around Cullen and bent his head to press a kiss against those curls that were still tied up from breakfast. “Good,” Dorian agreed with a chuckle, “here’s hoping that makes the rest of the day good too? Not worrying about anything like that would certainly be a weight off.

\------

Cullen pulled back from that embrace, still smiling. He’d probably still have to pay the kid’s medical bills, but he’d worry about that when he was served those papers. For now, it felt a little bit like he was floating on a cloud for how unreal it was. How good it felt.

“You have no idea,” he grinned, pulling Dorian back in for a kiss. Not one of the light, feathery kisses he’d gotten all morning, either. A real kiss. A kiss that took his breath away for a moment and made him think of nothing else but the feeling of lips and that mustache tickling his skin.

He pulled away again, sheepish this time, and chuckled, “So, uh, bad movies?”

\------

Both eyes closed for that kiss and Dorian wound his arms more tightly around Cullen’s middle. That was certainly what he’d been hoping for, anyway. Both the happiness and the kiss. Cullen looked amazing when he smiled and Dorian would have done quite a bit to see it. Obviously, all it took was listening to a message. He could definitely do that.

“Actually, I was going to hop in the shower,” Dorian answered, “since I didn’t last night.”

His thumbs started to run in gentle circles just above the waistband of the pants Cullen was wearing. He wasn’t pushing. Not really. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t _offer_. “And... was wondering if maybe you wanted to join me,” he went on, “no pressure, though.”

\------

Amber eyes snapped open wide at that and Cullen couldn’t help but cough nervously as a hand shot to the back of his neck on cue. He could feel the blood rushing to his face. He’d never been… propositioned… so openly. Ever. He was at a loss for what to say, really. Part of him really, really wanted to say yes. But another part, the part that worried about what all this meant, was telling him no. That he’d just get hurt. That it was a bad idea.

He landed somewhere in the middle, hating how indecisive he was being.

“Are you saying that I need a shower? Should I be offended?” he was stalling. He knew he was stalling. He couldn’t help it. Once, he’d have been able to be more direct - talk about what this was between them so he could answer the question before him now with certainty. Now, though… now, he was too scared of it ending to even bring up what it was.

\------

One eyebrow cocked. It wasn’t a life or death decision, after all, though he did chuckle at Cullen’s attempt at levity. “I’m saying I’d like you to shower with me,” Dorian stated plainly, and moved his arms from around Cullen’s waist so he could take a hand and tug the man so he’d follow him, “come on.”

If Cullen wasn’t going to make a decision, especially about this, then Dorian was going to give him that gentle push.

\------

He let Dorian pull him, Maker help him. His feet moved of their own accord as he chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. He wanted this, he did. Proof of that was making itself known, but that was a biological reaction.

_Don’t overthink it. Don’t blow it out of proportion. Don’t. Don’t._

But that was about as effective as asking him not to breathe. When he was clean, he’d never had sex with someone without there having been a relationship in place first. This was backwards. This wasn’t normal.  

Then again, Dorian had spun his world around over and over again since they’d met. Who knew what _normal_ was any more? And he liked Dorian. More than liked him. Maybe it would be ok.

Yes. It would be ok. It would work out. Dorian was, after all, very kind, regardless of what he thought about himself.

\------

When they got to the bathroom, Dorian turned and cast another glance over his shoulder at Cullen. He still looked... well, really concerned. Concerned didn’t fill him with a lot of excitement, since there was every chance that in the middle of things getting fun the man would bolt. He practically looked like a cat with his ears flattened.

“Cullen?” he asked gently, “you don’t _have_ to. You know that right?” Grey eyes searched that handsome face. “I’m not going to be upset that you don’t want to.”

\------

Something shifted then. More kindness. The times Dorian had been there, holding the pieces while Cullen broke, the times he'd made him laugh, when he'd just let him cry.

_You're giving your heart to man who may not want it. Is that ok?_

But the way he treated Cullen, the way he acted. Did he really not want it? Did it really feel that way?

_This could be a mistake._

_Then let me make it._

The way Dorian acted… his actions were that of someone who cared. Did it matter if they hadn't explicitly talked about _them_?

Actions spoke louder than words. Old Cullen had always been a man of action.

_Old Cullen would have made sure, though._

_I'm not that man any more._

“No. I want to. You. I want _you_.” he finally said as he pulled Dorian in, grabbing at his hips to press his entire body against him, crushing him in a kiss that spoke of abandon and desire.

\------

Well, they were riding that hot again, and Dorian wasn’t displeased for it. His general rule was to only engage when people were sure. He never wanted to be in a situation where he could have possibly taken advantage, which he worried for with Cullen. Hot and cold as he could be, Dorian never quite knew where his head was. That had sort of been the reason for the push. Having to make that decision for real was a good way to judge.

Dorian kissed Cullen back, arms around his neck as he leaned in closer, and he smoothed his hands along the other man’s back as their lips moved together. This was the kind of kiss Dorian loved. He loved being grabbed at and shown what the other person wanted. In a way, it absolved him of feeling any wrongdoing. Cullen hadn’t said ‘no’ and hadn’t fought him. He was of sound mind and _certainly_ sound body. Good enough.

“Good,” he murmured once he was finally allowed to breathe, “I was starting to worry I’d made an ass of myself.” Dorian grinned then and leaned in, tongue flicking across those all-too gorgeous lips that he’d wanted to taste since he’d seen the man on the platform, before he all but wound himself around Cullen again.

\------

_Maker, yes._

It had been so long, so long since anyone was this close. Cullen felt his mind go, fuzzy around the edges and full of only the want for Dorian. He leaned in, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with the man, before his teeth and tongue worked their way from the crook of Dorian’s neck and back to that mouth. His hands snaked up the man’s chest to wrap around that neck and tangle fingers in hair. He couldn’t remember the last time anything felt so… _good._

And it was good. Now that he’d given himself permission, his body moved on its own - it had been starved of affection, of touch for so long, it reached for Dorian, taking him in like a drowning man gulps for air.

He pulled back for a moment to breathe, fingers still buried in hair, dragging short nails lightly across Dorian’s scalp.

“You hadn’t,” he smiled and kissed the tip of his nose lightly.

\------

That little kiss was utterly ridiculous, but Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course Cullen would do that. Dorian wound his arms more tightly around that strong body and he leaned in to kiss Cullen again for a long moment, “Now we did come in here for a purpose,” he teased before he nipped at Cullen’s lower lip, “though I’m not complaining at the thought of you having me against the wall, but a shower first would probably be a good idea.” He was smiling, completely happy and content despite how his blood was pumping hard and fast and hot. Much more of those kisses, which were already making him _stir_ , and he’d be a mess.

“Give me three minutes to get the shower going and you can have your hands on me all you want, hm?”

\------

Cullen took a step back to give Dorian room to move. “And here I thought that was pretense,” he replied with a little snort, “Please, do what you have to do.”

It felt good to let go. It felt good to not listen to the doubt and anxiety that always ate at the corners of his mind. It felt good to be wanted. He could wait three minutes.

\------

It took pretty much a minute to get the water on and set before Dorian turned back to Cullen and gently nudged him back against the wall, “Now,” he murmured before he leaned in for a kiss, “I should probably get you out of those pants, hm?” His fingers smoothed down Cullen’s chest, short nails biting in just a little as they moved lower to tangle in the waistband, “since the last time you had that damned towel on.”

\------

Suddenly, he felt a bit… shy? Maybe that wasn't the right word, but he did feel self-conscious. Dorian was so confident and just, Maker, he was gorgeous.

What if... what if he wasn't any _good_? He'd had sex in the past five years, but that happened when he was so out of his mind, he didn't remember any of it. Those times burned in his mind with shame and he couldn't even benefit from the experience. Great.

It had been 5 years since any time he really counted, even longer since it had been with a man. Maker, what if he'd forgotten how? That wasn't possible, right? Like riding a bicycle, once you know, you know…. Right?

Cullen's hand grabbed the one twisting in his waistband and he looked up at Dorian from under his brows.

“It's… ah… it's been a while,” he stammered, “just so you know.”

_Maker, I'm pathetic._

\------

Ah. Nerves. Still consent, but nerves. Dorian knew nerves.

He relaxed his stance into something less predatory, and tangled his fingers with the hand Cullen had grabbed. Dorian leaned in, rested his forehead to Cullen’s, and smiled a bit more warmly than wickedly, “It’s okay,” he replied before he leaned in and kissed the other man’s cheek, “I’ll be as gentle as you want me to be, alright?” Cullen could set the pace as far as Dorian was concerned. Comfort was more important than just getting off.

Again he smiled, and pressed himself a little closer and he started to ease those pants down off Cullen’s hips more gently, “and if you need a minute, you tell me. Or if you get uncomfortable. Anything you need.”

\------

A ragged sigh of relief escaped Cullen's lips as he closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of those hands on him. His skin was oversensitive, each rake of those nails at his hips sending shocks through him. He found his own hands moving, slipping under the hem of Dorian's tshirt to knead into the skin and muscle of his back. Another rake of Dorian's nails against skin that hadn't been touched in recent memory, and Cullen pulled his own nails down Dorian's back a bit.

This wasn't going to last long if he didn't get a hold on himself.

\------

“You can take that off, you know,” he teased against Cullen’s ear and nipped just behind his earlobe as he finally got those pants low enough that they pooled at the other man’s ankles. Dorian was trying very hard not to look down and survey this new development, but instead just let his fingers trail along Cullen’s hips and back along his lower back, “and we can get in the water before it gets cold.”

\------

“Hardly fair I'm the only one naked here,” he agreed, voice pitched low. He pulled fabric, ridding Dorian of that annoying shirt and leaned back, just a little, to look.

A sharp inhale of air and Cullen knew he looked like someone had slapped him, but this was so… Dorian was so…

“... beautiful.” he sighed as he traced a tentative line from the waistband of Dorian's underwear - _that's gotta go, too_ \- up his stomach, finally resting on his chest. Skin so warm and smooth and perfect, Cullen couldn't help admiring it.

\------

Dorian practically preened at that. Being called beautiful was one of his favorite things. Usually when people said that instead of ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ they meant it. He was smirking, something only a notch more wicked than he had been, and he leaned in for a slow and probing kind of kiss as his hands inched lower to grab a handful each of Cullen’s ass. How could he _not_ , after all? Dorian had noticed how great it looked in those pants, in the jeans he wore, and... yes. Dorian like what he saw, and now felt.

He wiggled a little against Cullen, a silent okay for the man to get him out of the rest of his clothes. This touching thing was good, but the water would go cold before they got in at this rate and Dorian rather wanted all that hair and skin and muscle under some hot water.

Which reminded him.

“One thing,” he all but purred against Cullen’s lips as his hands smoothed back upward and expertly (after so many times now) pulled the tie from Cullen’s hair so those curls fell free and Dorian could toss the tie on the counter. There. Now it was perfect. Dorian tangled his fingers in that hair, let it twist around his hands, and pulled it just lightly to bring them together for another kiss.

\------

The feeling of those hands grabbing him and now tangled in his hair, pulling him in… Cullen was losing himself again in Dorian. He moaned as Dorian kissed him, soft but still there, and his hands ran down that lovely caramel skin, slipping under the waistband of the last little strip of fabric that separated them. He managed to shift it just over the perfect curve of Dorian’s ass before he gave in and grabbed, rolling his hips against Dorian and leaning his head back, savoring the feeling of friction.

A heartbeat passed, and his mouth was on Dorian again, teeth raking the skin at the crook of his neck as he finally worked the man’s underwear the rest of the way off. Cullen could feel _him_ pressing against him now, skin on skin, and it was almost too much.

Almost.

He pulled back and met Dorian’s eyes.

“There, now it’s fair.”

\------

Dorian grinned, “Come on, then,” he prompted and pulled Cullen into the shower with him. He liked the water hot and the room steamy when he showered, and Dorian curled around the other man under the spray. There wasn’t much hotter than being pressed together with hot water pouring down off them, after all. He tipped his head back, let his hair slick out of his eyes, and leaned back in to tangle his fingers back in those damp curls so he could pull Cullen in closer again.

Maker, he could have climbed Cullen _like a tree_.

\------

Cullen marveled at how it was just last night this very thing had played out in his head. Now that it was happening, he found that his imagination was sorely lacking. Skin on skin was good. Skin _sliding_ against skin under hot running water was… another thing entirely. Every touch, every movement was amplified somehow, and he found himself shuddering before long. Dorian seemed to know what he needed, though, and Cullen found himself marveling again at how _well_ their bodies fit together. It had been a long time, but this was well worth the wait. It was like he’d been waiting for Dorian… and _Dorian_ was worth the wait.

\------

Dorian had promised a good day, and after that shower he’d certainly delivered. They’d stumbled from the shower, only half dry for how their hands couldn’t quite stay to themselves, and fell back into Dorian’s bed with gusto. It was still early enough in the morning that it felt like that intimate kind of morning sex Dorian only tolerated with people he actually liked. Those people were on a very, _very_ short list and Cullen had quickly rocketed to the top of it.

The first round had been hard and fast, with them both panting and moaning around the other, and the second much slower and filled with low groans and gentle instruction so they might learn each other’s bodies a bit better. Dorian delighted in making Cullen’s legs shake and filthy words fall from his mouth like water over falls. Cullen also seemed to enjoy making Dorian shiver, gasp in sudden surprise, which suited him just fine. It was also the small things, like the way Cullen squirmed when Dorian tugged those curls or how Dorian hissed for the bite of Cullen’s nails, that were catalogued away. They could revisit them later, contemplate them when they had time, and Dorian was happy for it.

Then it was afternoon. They’d lost some hours together, dozing in Dorian’s bed and wrapped up together, before they’d finally risen and made for a second (and less eventful) shower. The promised bad movies on the couch would fill the rest of the night until they decided to go to bed together again, since Dorian had no plans to let Cullen leave. He liked having him there.

So he stretched out on the couch with his head in Cullen’s lap while something exploded on the screen and Dorian chuckled. Their clothes were in the wash down in the basement, so at least Cullen would have a clean shirt, and it all felt very... nice.

  
And, Maker help him, all he was worried about was what they’d have for dinner later that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the Do Not Pass Go arc. You'll notice we finally earned our NSFW / mature rating.


	10. I Love a Parade [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian gets a phone call that puts him in quite the mood.

_“_ _I told her I hadn’t heard from you in a while and that you must have gotten a new phone because I didn’t have your number.”_

_“Did she say anything else?”_

_“Just that if I talked to you to let her know. And that the parents and I are invited to some dinner party next week.”_

_“Going to be conspicuously busy?”_

_“Mother might go. She might drag Father along, but I’ll be working even if I’m not. You know.”_

_“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Felix.”_

_“I figured you’d want to know. Just in case.”_

_“I’ll let you know if anything happens.”_

_“Right, yeah. Hey, how’s... how’re things with that guy? The one you sent me the picture of at the gig?”_

_“Oh, you know. Good. Really good.”_

_“Actually really good or really good for you really good?”_

_“Ass.”_

_“Text me later. I’ve gotta get back.”_

_“Right. Later. Give Livia and Gereon all my love.”_

Dorian sat on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest for a long while after he’d gotten off the phone. It was a Saturday afternoon, a nice day by all accounts, and then that bombshell. Felix, which wasn’t abnormal, but with... news. News from Aquinea. News that Aquinea had been sniffing around him and Livia wanting to know where Dorian was. Again. They played this game once every few months, and after his last phone number change, he was definitively tired of it.

At this rate, he’d get a poorly constructed message from Gereon that Halward had asked him to tennis so he could drop casual hints about wanting to know where Dorian was as well. Maker help him. He rubbed a hand over his face and let out a string of very ugly Tevene that would make a sailor blush. It made him feel agitated. His blood felt too hot for his body and like his nerves were alight with lightning. The anxiety spike was right around the corner at this rate. Dorian knew it better than he knew himself.

So he looked back down at his phone and flicked open the contacts. He’d need to get out of the house. He needed to be somewhere that his thoughts couldn’t catch up to him. The longer he sat there the worse it was going to get and he was going to end up destroying a few bottles of wine on top of his anxiety medication. Again. The sickness after the last two times were deterrent enough.

Not that it helped him now.

He saw a message from Sera that mentioned some kind of festival. She’d already be there, flowers in her hair and hand in hand with Dagna, and Dorian ached to be that free. He wanted to be there, wanted to be noticed and coddled and fawned over. Sera and Dagna wouldn’t, but they’d watch out for him if he asked them to.

_[Send Message: Sera (4:37PM)]: U still going 2 that fest? bad day. can I come?_

While he waited, Dorian got to his feet and set to changing out of the tatty sweatpants and tank top he wore and into a pair of nice jeans and a t-shirt that could stand to get food or drink or whatever it was they ended up doing. Festivals were always interesting, the last one he’d gone to had ended with him waking up next to a burly man from Seheron whose apartment was covered in art supplies and incredibly tasteless nude paintings. Including a rough one of himself drying on an easel depicting Dorian lounging on a mattress on the floor with a bottle of wine and a cigarette with his hair all mussed.

Maybe this time he could top that.

_[Sera (4:41PM)]: There now. Meet us. Bring ur man._

That... actually wasn’t a terrible idea. Dorian’s immediate response had been to flinch at the suggestion, but actually the thought of maybe having one of Cullen’s warm hands on his back and that kind smile made him feel a little better. That smile wormed its way into his head more often than not anymore, and it made Dorian’s chest ache. He could use that smile right now. He could use that steady warmth and bulk next to him, too, and the subtle humor that made Dorian smile.

Anything to make the creeping anxiety slow. Dorian could feel the weight settling in his chest despite all his efforts to outrun it. If he left fast enough, if he got there and downed a few cocktails, he could get away from it. He needed... something. Someone. Sera and Dagna. Cullen. People who cared.

People that would make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Well, other than the usual.

_[Send Message: Cullen (4:45PM)]: UR clearing ur schedule today/nite. Come out w/ me. i had a shitty day and want to see u_

\----

A month. It had been nearly a month since the weekend that had started off so _fucking badly_ , but ended up being so… well, Cullen couldn't think of a word that described it properly, so he just called it amazing and called it good enough. Since then, though, things had slowed, almost to a halt. It was mostly Cullen's fault. He'd had to take a few days off before the bruise yellowed enough and that split in his lip healed enough so that he didn't look like a horror show. People avoided people who looked like that, and he needed to be at least moderately approachable. His livelihood literally depended on the kindness of strangers, after all. Those few days off compromised his bottom line.

Plus, he had the college guy's medical bills to pay and that money Dorian had fronted for him looming over his head. He pulled longer hours and worked the bar more often, even weeknights, to try and save up to pay his debt. It was hell on his voice, it was hell on his back, but what could he do? It was his only marketable skill these days.

So, work he had. Which meant he was exhausted when his head finally hit his pillow at night. It also meant that he went back to seeing Dorian mostly at the station every day, which was more than a little disappointing. Still, he'd pay his debts. He had to.

Oh, Dorian had managed to drag him away for a few dinners, and had even showed up for a gig or two at the bar, but they didn't seem to _connect_ in the same way again. Missed messages filled his phone. Missed opportunities. He was miserable, twisting between doubt and happiness as his mind constantly replayed the events of that weekend, but he had a duty. And if Dorian thought there was anything wrong, he hadn't said so. Which was also… disappointing.

All this work wasn't to avoid Dorian. He wasn't avoiding Dorian. He _wasn't._ He told himself it was the money he needed, not the fear he still held that this was some sort of dream that would vanish. It wasn't the fact that he didn't want to talk about what that weekend meant for fear that it would evaporate around him. It wasn't that he still questioned Dorian's motives. It wasn't that he never really squared with his own feelings before giving in and letting go. It wasn't.

But it partly was. Fear was a hard thing to let go of.

He stood outside another station, not _theirs,_ taking a break to smoke and enjoy the warming weather. Spring was finally coming, so at least that was something. He was scheduled to play that night, so he was going over a set list in his head when his phone buzzed.

_Dorian_

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered that message. It was so Dorian, direct, but it also wasn't. He'd had a shitty day and wanted to see Cullen. His cheeks warmed at that as his heart did a little flip and twist.

_He wants to see me. Because he's had a bad day. Me._

He shouldn't beg off the gig. It would look bad. The owner might not want him back, and then where would he be? But Harding was going to be there. He'd hardly be missed, if all the owner wanted was entertainment for his patrons. If it didn't have to be Cullen.

He considered for a few more moments. No, it didn't have to be Cullen who played at the bar, but it apparently had to be Cullen who showed up for Dorian. 

He shot off two messages then, one to Harding to let her know she needed to adjust her plans and another to the bar owner to let him know Cullen wouldn’t show. Finally, he tapped Dorian's name to respond.

_[Send Message: Dorian (4:54PM)]: Done. What are we getting into today, then?_

He thought for a moment and sent another message.

_[Send Message: Dorian (4:55PM)]: And I hope you're ok?_

\----

The first message made his phone buzz as he was getting on his shoes, and Dorian smiled to himself. Good. Cullen had been doing a lot of extra legwork since that whole thing with the kid and the arrest. Dorian had been supportive, happy not to cling and demand his attention regardless of the fact that he _wanted_ it. He’d never been one to do that. Let his lovers do their own thing and come to him when they could agree or when it worked best. Expectations ruined things, after all.

_[Send Message: Cullen (4:57PM)]: Better now that ur coming :)_

_[Send Message: Cullen (4:57PM)]: Food festival. cheap food and booze. also music probably_

_[Send Message: Cullen (4:58PM)]: glad ur coming_

What little flip his stomach did was… well, Dorian wasn’t thinking about it. He’d asked Cullen to clear his schedule, though he half expected the man to make an excuse why he couldn’t, and he had. Of course he did, though. No one turned down Dorian Pavus, after all. He took a breath, held it, and let that give him just a bit of strength. Twenty minutes and he’d be far away from this frame of mind. His anxiety would be drowned out by merriment, and that’s exactly what he needed.

_You should take something before you go. Just in case._

That was the responsible adult side of him talking. But no. He planned to get grievously drunk. Drunk was better than the pills. Drunk was infinitely more fun. His anxiety meds would only interfere with that. 

He quickly shot off another message to Cullen with the streets the festival was taking up and started walking. Sera and Dagna would already be having a world of fun, probably, and he was keen to soak some of that up. Hopefully, Cullen would be too.

\----

_[Send Message Dorian (5:05PM)]: Just have to drop the guitar at the apartment. Meet you there._

Cullen put his earbuds in, pocketed his phone, and made his way back down to the station. He was only a few stops from Samson’s, so it shouldn’t take too long. He wanted to change and, at the very least, wash his face. It’d been a long day already, and if he was going to see Dorian, he wanted to at least be presentable.

On the train, he couldn’t help but smile a bit as he watched the scenery go by through the window. Dorian had just sort of asked him out for no other reason except that he wanted to see him.

Back at Samson’s, Cullen stashed his guitar and changed clothes. He’d been thrift shopping - he’d grown incredibly self-conscious of his ripped jeans and t-shirt collection since he’d started this… thing with Dorian. He hadn’t gotten anything extravagant, just a few pairs of pants and a small assortment of better-than-a-t-shirt shirts. Some of them were actually pretty nice - amazing what the more fortunate decided to get rid of.

He pulled on one of the nicer shirts, a soft chambray button down - rolled up to the elbows - and a pair of sort-of nice, kind-of fitted khakis… or were they called chinos? Cullen wasn’t sure. Either way, it felt… odd to not be in ripped jeans, the uniform of the desperate and broke. This was more like something he’d have worn back in the days before, when he taught at a nice school and never imagined he’d be living like he did in just a few short years. He looked at himself in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. The hair was wrong, but he _almost_ looked the part of Old Cullen. It was eerie. At least he didn’t tuck the shirt in - that would have pushed the whole thing a bit too far.

Still, something had to be done with that hair. He pulled it back in a knot at the crown of his head… partly to get it out of his face and partly as a little challenge to Dorian. Maybe later.

He loaded up the bag he carried when he didn’t have his guitar case - phone, wallet, cigarettes… a fresh t shirt, clean pair of underwear, and his toothbrush. Just in case. He didn’t want to set any expectations for the evening, but it never hurt to be prepared. He slung the bag over his neck, across his body, and headed out the door.

Back on the train, he started to get fidgety. Nervous. Happy. Anxious. It had been a good while since he and Dorian had spent more than an hour or two together, after all. He wanted it to go well. He hoped it would go well. It _would_ go well.

Finally at the festival, he fished his phone out of his bag. 

_[Send Message Dorian (5:50PM)]: Sorry it took so long! I’m here. Where are you?_

\----

Upon getting to the festival and finding Sera and Dagna, Dorian had let himself soak up a bit of their laughter. Sera had the bright eyes and pink cheeked tell that she was already well on the way to drunk. Dagna was less so, but grinning and very huggy. That was actually pretty alright. Dorian could use the hugs right now.

A quick word, mostly about his bad day, which he just shrugged and simply said “parents,” later and Sera had somehow managed to press a cold bottle of craft beer into his hands. Half in the bag as she was, a serious expression touched her face and she muttered something about “fuckin’ pissheads,” which had Dorian chuckling. They were indeed, and he appreciated hearing it out loud. Felix was, despite being Dorian’s best friend and the only one who knew everything, far too nice to call his parents anything other than “desperate” in polite company. After everything had happened, though, Dorian had never heard Felix swear so much in his life.

When his phone chirped and buzzed, Dorian smiled and hopped down off the picnic table they were currently occupying, “Be back. Cullen’s here.”

“Don’t just run off!” Sera called after him, “we have to meet him first!”

_[Send Message: Cullen (5:52PM)]: Theres a bunch of tables set up. Im heading toward the entrance._

Dorian swept the area, looking for any familiar sign, and grinned when he caught sight of those blond curls that he’d know anywhere. It also looked a bit like Cullen had… well, he’d worn something different than usual. How nice. They hadn’t had a chance to get together for anything more than a quick dinner or coffee after one of Cullen’s shows for how tired the other man had been. To have Cullen there, presumably for longer than an hour, and dressed up a bit like this really was a date? Dorian's insides might have done a little shake.

He cut around a large group of people, moved so he could approach the other man from the side. Dorian’s intention had been a quick goose, maybe pull him into a dip to kiss him, but as he neared Cullen, something in his chest started to hurt. A spike of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on filled him, and suddenly the conversation with Felix hit him like a train. Dorian stalled a moment and took a breath. A kiss, some kind of grand gesture that was meant to be more funny than anything, wasn’t actually what he wanted.

 

So he came up to Cullen, quietly, and just wrapped his arms around him. It was very unlike him normally, and he’d go back to his usual in a moment, but actually what he needed was a hug. A big hug. Dorian buried his face in against Cullen’s neck, and squeezed him as tightly as he dared. “Glad you’re here,” he told him in his ear, “I needed to see you.”

\----

Cullen was scanning the sea of people when he felt arms winding around him. How Dorian had snuck up on him, he didn’t know, and it made him jump a bit for how unexpected it was. It didn’t take long for him to relax and wrap his own arms around the man, smiling at the sweet hello. He still cut his eyes to the side to see if they’d caught anyone’s attention - Cullen was always a little skittish about showing affection in public. That was something, it seemed, that hadn’t changed about him in the past few years.

_I needed to see you._

Those words sent a little shiver down his spine and his fear of being affectionate where people could see went out the door. There was something about Dorian’s tone that made him feel… protective? He was hardly in a position to protect anyone from anything, but there it was. Cullen wanted to take whatever it was that had made Dorian’s voice waver just that little bit and send it to the void. Since he couldn’t, he brushed a kiss against the man’s forehead, happy that he had decided to come.

After just a moment, he pulled back. “And here I am,” he smiled, “and happy to be here.” His face grew a bit more serious then as he asked, “How are you?”

\----

The hug wasn’t actually nearly as long as Dorian would have liked for it to be. What he wanted was some something to completely blanket him so the thought of his parents couldn’t get in. That, sadly, wasn’t going to happen. But he could enjoy himself, and he would. They both would.

Dorian took another breath, rearranged his face, and smiled a little at Cullen in reply, “Better now,” he answered, “I needed to get out of the house and thought we should do something.” One hand reached down to take one of Cullen’s, “I thought something like this might be a bit of fun. Maker knows we could use it, right?”

\----

“I doubt even the Maker knows how right you are,” Cullen chuckled as he allowed Dorian to lead him through the crowd, “It’s been… well, it’s been a trying month.”

He looked down at the hand holding his own. This all still seemed a bit unbelievable, that someone like Dorian would want to see him - no, _need_ to see him - despite everything he’d shared during that strange weekend. But now something was weighing on Dorian’s mind. If Cullen had learned a little about Dorian in their brief interactions and text conversations, it was that he played things a bit close to the chest. Still, if he could in _any_ small way do for Dorian what Dorian had done for him by just being there, he would. He would in a heartbeat. He just had to be delicate about it, and something told him that just asking Dorian what happened, point blank, would be a bad idea. Maybe if he waited a bit, Dorian would let him know in what capacity he was _needed_.

“So, what’s this whole thing about then?” he asked, hand sweeping out in front of him to indicate the entirety of the festival.

\----

As they walked, Dorian kept a bit closer to Cullen. He could blame that on the crowds, but mostly he just wanted to feel the heat that came of Cullen in waves against him. Something about that soothed the way his skin almost hurt. It felt like something inside him was rubbing him raw. He wanted to forget that. “Celebrating the local food movement,” he answered, “or something. Local places, food trucks, that kind of thing. Lots of little food stalls and beer gardens.” Dorian squeezed the hand he held then and smiled up at Cullen. “Good way to have a lot of nibbles and have a good time with people.”

He led Cullen back toward their table then, and paused to drop a quick kiss on the other man’s shoulder, “I’m with a couple of friends. Sera’s from work and her girlfriend. We can stay with them until Dagna has to pour Sera into a cab home, which at this rate should be... maybe an hour or two? They’ve been here since noon.”

\----

Cullen swallowed, trying to still that little ripple of panic. _New people._

But if he wanted this to be something, and he really, really did, despite the fear he still held that Dorian would come to his senses, he'd have to try. Right now, trying meant that he had to meet Dorian's friends.

A sudden thought struck him. _He's letting me meet his friends._

The panic vanished as quickly as it came on, and he couldn't suppress the pleased grin that formed on his face. _Meeting his friends. That's a good thing, right?_

It _was_ a good thing. He'd been afraid that Dorian might not want to be seen with him, not really. But this… well, this lifted a weight from his heart. It felt… good.

“The small blonde with the flaming shots, I take it?” he asked, remembering Dorian's comments about his friend from the first time he came to watch Cullen play.

\----

“The very one,” Dorian chuckled and waved as they came closer.

Dagna, the smaller girl, was sitting on the top of the picnic table with Sera sitting beside her. Between them there was a plate of what looked to be very delicious and glazed spare ribs with some sort of salad and they were tucking in happily. As Cullen and Dorian approached the blonde clapped her hands and sat up a bit, “About fuckin’ time!” Sera chirped as she got to her feet, kissed Dagna’s cheek, and jogged over. She seemed mostly stable.

Dorian opened his mouth to introduce her, “This is Sera, she works in the-”

“You’re the one with the guitar, yeah?” Sera asked as she looked Cullen over, “the pretty one with all the hair. No wonder he’s gone all wibbly whenever his phone goes off.”

The hand not holding Cullen pressed against Dorian’s forehead, “Maker help me.”

Sera stuck her tongue out and grinned at Cullen, “So what’s your name? I can’t call you ‘guitar man’ all night. Or can I?”

\----

_Wibbly? Dorian wibbly? Over me?_

Cullen’s free hand shot up to his mouth, a piss-poor attempt to cover a wide smile as he cut his eyes over at Dorian. The man looked utterly horrified. Which, of course, was adorable, and only served to make Cullen’s grin wider. He could feel the flush rising to his cheeks. _He gets wibbly over me,_ he thought,followed by, _Oh, I like her._

He dropped Dorian’s hand then to hold it out to the grinning woman in front of him. “Cullen Rutherford,” he replied through a grin of his own, “Unless you really just want to call me ‘guitar man.’ I’ll answer to that.”

This was good. This was easy. He could do this.

\----

Again, Sera giggled and took both of Cullen’s hands and shook them before she practically dragged him back over to Dagna. Dorian took up the rear, chuckling the whole time as they walked back over. He could have perhaps found a lovely hole to go hide in, but he’d committed now. Leave it to Sera, though, and he should have expected it.

“This is Cullen!” Sera announced to Dagna, then gestured to her, “This is Widdle.”

“Dagna,” Dorian explained as he came level with Cullen’s shoulder, “Sera gives nicknames when she likes you, fair warning.”

The smaller girl wiped her hands and mouth on a napkin and reached out to shake Cullen’s hand, “You’re taller than in the pictures,” she stated with a grin, then cast a glance at Dorian, “and _he’s_ trying not to blush.”

\----

Laughing amber eyes set under raised brows cast back to Dorian as Sera pulled Cullen by his hands to the lady smiling on a nearby picnic table.

_What is happening?_

Sera was just so… open. Free. He wasn't sure of the proper response to her - it had been a while since he'd been out like this, being social, and he'd never met anyone quite like her. She had a way about her that disarmed him and put him at ease; he was comfortable in his own skin, which was something these days.  Grin still plastered on his face, Cullen took Dagna’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Dagna,” he chuckled and looked over at Dorian with one arched brow, “Pictures?”

\----

He waved a hand, “Just some I took at a few of the shows,” Dorian answered, “nothing untoward, I promise.”

At that, Sera snickered and picked up a bottle. It was a bright pink something and smelled of watermelon, “He wouldn’t show us _those_ even if we asked,” she teased.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Dorian laughed and lifted a hand to run through his hair before it slid down to fix his facial hair, “now. This is technically a food and drink festival, and I intend to make the most of it.” He turned to look over at Cullen, “Care to wander a bit and find something to nibble on? I was thinking of some of those sliders I saw... with the sweet potato chips?”

\----

Cullen did some quick math in his head. He should be ok. Should be. He'd been working steadily for nearly a month. The rent and power bills were paid, and he'd made his first payment toward the college guy's medical bills on time. He felt strangely on top of things for once.

_But look at how hard you had to work for it. Just to stay afloat._

He frowned, just the barest ghost of annoyance on his face, for only a breath. _Stop. You're going to be here for Dorian, and you're going to fucking enjoy yourself for once._

“Food's good, though I'd _greatly_ enjoy staying to hear more about this _wibbly_ business…” Cullen teased, looping an arm around Dorian's and flashing him a lopsided grin.

\----

“And we’re going,” Dorian stated as he started to push Cullen off to the side, “we’ll be back!”

“He gets a dopey smile!” Sera crowed as they made their way off, and Dorian turned to put up a rather rude gesture, which only seemed to make her laugh more.

Dorian led Cullen back through the crowd then, and once they were a bit away from the others he shook his head and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, “I feel like I should have seen that coming.”

\----

“They're quite the pair, that Sera especially,” Cullen laughed. His steps were light, as was his heart. He'd forgotten what it was like, just being out and having _fun,_ and found that he rather enjoyed it. Despite the thoughts that whirled around his mind when he was alone, Dorian had brought a great many good things back into his life, and it was easy, natural, now to fall into that banter. Cullen swung his hip to push Dorian playfully as they approached a row of food trucks.

“.... you like me,” he teased, cheeks still tinged pink.

\----

Oh, Maker help him.

Dorian started laughing for that and leaned in to kiss Cullen’s shoulder, “As if that wasn’t abundantly clear?” he asked, and cast a glance up into those amber eyes. He _did_ like Cullen. There wasn’t much sense in denying it. He wouldn’t have wanted to see him as often as he did, nor would he have asked him along today. The man was, despite Dorian’s usual type, very easy to _like_.

He leaned in a bit against Cullen’s side and looped his arm around the other man’s waist, “never mind the way your ears are burning. _You_ like _me_ too.”

\----

“Nope. Not even a little,” but his eyes were bright and he knew he his face was wearing one of those dopey grins Sera had accused Dorian of. As if it were the most normal thing in the world - _and why shouldn't it be?_ \- Cullen wrapped his arm around Dorian, resting his hand on the man's shoulder as he pressed a kiss to his temple, the soft, closely cropped hair there tickling Cullen's lips.

“Not at all,” he murmured into his ear.

\----

“You’re a horrible liar,” he teased as he turned to smile up at Cullen.

This was what he’d needed. Dorian had needed something light and fun and where he couldn’t think. It was loud enough there, happy enough with Cullen, that his thoughts were mostly quiet. He appreciated that much.

He gestured to a line, “That’s the place with the sliders,” Dorian told him, “unless you want to have a look around first. There’s all kinds of things, but we can always get something else in a bit.”

\----

Cullen snorted, “Honest to a fault. Most of the time, anyway.”

_Unless you're using._

_Stop._  

“How can I say no to confusingly small hamburgers?” he continued. This was nice. Really nice. He found himself wondering if perhaps Dorian's “bad day” was an excuse to get Cullen to come out. Maker knows he'd made himself fairly unavailable in the past month, and Dorian _seemed_ fine.

But there was that little tone when he first greeted Cullen. That was still worrisome.

\----

The hand resting on Cullen’s hip brushed gently, slipped up under that shirt so Dorian could touch soft skin, and he leaned in against that bulk. It was comforting to have Cullen there. “They are a delicacy,” he agreed, and took a deep breath in, “I’m looking forward to this and many drinks.” Many, many drinks. Good company and drinking himself into a stupor were the only things that helped.

\----

The feeling of skin on skin, especially such tender skin, out here in the open made Cullen flinch for a moment as his heartbeat sped up just a bit. He took a breath and willed himself not to pull away. After the initial shock, he found the little touch… nice, and he actually pressed into it after he'd relaxed.

Regardless of the light atmosphere, Cullen didn't care for that last bit, especially in conjunction with the _bad day_. _Many drinks,_ Dorian had said. What did Dorian consider “many”? Cullen cut his eyes across at the dark-haired man he'd grown so _fond_ of in spite of himself, “Am _I_ gonna have to pour _you_ into a cab tonight?” he took a breath before he continued - _Delicate, Cullen. Keep it light. -_ “Because I'm sure I can think of one or two better ways to spend an evening.”

\----

Well, it was good that was on the cards. Dorian smiled and leaned a bit more into Cullen, “I make no promises, but I’ll definitely _try_ not to get to that point.” Though that had been the plan. In the vast scheme of things, however, he’d choose sex over a hangover. Or sex _then_ a hangover. Sex would definitely... well, it would quiet a lot of things the topic of his parents brought up, anyway.

“So how’s today been?” he asked after a moment, “I hope you weren’t halfway across the city when I sent that.” Though Cullen had come regardless. Dorian was glad for that. There were men he knew that would only see him, if he went to them of course, if they were maybe ten minutes apart. Any more ‘wasn’t worth it’.

\----

Well, that got him nowhere. Cullen wasn't very good at trying to pry information out of people, never was. He was about as delicate as a bull in a china shop. _Maybe I'm worried about nothing._

Still, he couldn’t help but be a little concerned.

“Nah, I was just a little ways away from the apartment. Not too bad,” he answered, “I was tired of playing today, anyway.” He wasn’t sure if he should tell Dorian he’d cancelled his gig tonight or not. He didn’t want the man to think he’d put him out. Considering that the only reason Cullen even got the invite out was that Dorian had had a bad day - it wouldn’t do to worry the man further. 

\----

“A change of scenery is good,” Dorian agreed with a nod, “and you’ve been busy. A night off is exactly what we need.” The hand under Cullen’s shirt, the one at his waist, squeezed just a little and he pressed himself closer. What he wanted was Cullen’s arm around him. And a beer. Thankfully the line wasn’t terribly long. Food to soak up the alcohol so he could have more of it was exactly what the night should be. This was infinitely better than wine at home and trying to sort out something to eat there. “No guff from the roommates, I hope?” he asked, “or are they going to freak out that you’re gone again tonight?”

\----

“Oh?” he arched an eyebrow, “Where will I be tonight, then?”

The hand on Dorian's shoulder squeezed him in a bit. They both knew where he'd be at this point. He was glad for the fresh clothes he'd thought to bring.

\----

Dorian chuckled, “with any luck?” he asked before he leaned up to first kiss Cullen’s cheek then murmur in his ear, “on top of me.”

\----

Cullen's breath hitched, stopping for just a moment. Three words from Dorian, that's apparently all it took to get his blood pumping. There was no label for the violent shade of red he knew was creeping up his face and lighting his ears on fire.

“I…” he practically fucking squeaked. He cleared his throat, “I suppose I should send Samson a message then.”

He let go of Dorian's shoulder to root around in his bag for his phone. He tapped out the message and, before hitting send, used every bit of daring he had to meet Dorian's eyes, “Assuming our luck holds, of course.”

\----

“Well, I’d suggest we go now but we’ve already made it out here,” he teased, “but I think a few drinks to relax us a little would definitely be good.” Though that blush was spectacular. Dorian would have loved to find somewhere close, though perhaps not _on the street_ , and take full advantage. “And Sera and Dagna wouldn’t forgive me if we ran off,” he went on, “despite my wanting to.”

\----

“I’m sure,” Cullen laughed, “But the night is young, as they say.”

He frowned then as he saw that he had several unread messages, a few from Harding and one from the owner of the bar. Harding just wanted to make sure he was ok, but the bar owner was… not pleased with Cullen’s absence. Apparently, he was taking him off the rotation for a week.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he tapped out a message to Harding - _I’m ok, just couldn’t make it_ \- and put his phone back in his bag. Oh, well, he’d made the choice, and he couldn’t say that he regretted it.

\---- 

“Everything okay?” Dorian asked, one eyebrow cocked. No one ever looked at their phone, said that, and looked like _that_ without there being a problem. “I didn’t pull you away from something, did I?” he went on. Thought he expected that Cullen wouldn’t have come if that were the case.

\----

_Ah shit._ For a moment, Cullen thought about just not telling him. They'd been having fun, his lingering concerns about what had made Dorian's day a bad one aside, and he didn't want to ruin that. But, as Dorian himself had pointed out earlier, he was a horrible liar. He'd rather have one encounter with Dorian that didn't devolve into his shit.

Cullen sighed and reached for Dorian's hand. “It's not a big deal,” he shrugged, tone as light as he could make it, “I cancelled a gig and the owner's being an ass. But look… we're next.”

\----

When they got up to order, Dorian got them one of the deals with six sliders as well as the chips and two beers. He’d start on something easy to drink first. Once the sun went down and more of the little watering holes started their special deals, they’d probably be drowning in cheap cocktails. “This should keep us going for a bit, hm?” he mused as they moved off to the side to wait for theirs to be ready, “you can get us the next round of drinks, maybe?”

\----

Cullen knew he should be careful with what money he had at this point. He'd just lost his main source of income for a week, after all. Still, when he looked at Dorian smiling over at him, he went a little soft around the edges and decided he'd do his worrying tomorrow.

_What the hell. Maker knows I could use a drink. Or 3._

“Sounds like a plan,” he laughed, looping his arm around Dorian's waist as they waited.

\----

Knowing Cullen was game for as much was good, and Dorian leaned a bit more into him. Something about having him close massaged the slightly aching edges of his fraying nerves. It was... nice. He’d have to thank Sera for putting this idea in his head. It was what he’d needed. “I’m glad you decided to come,” Dorian told him softly, “even on such short notice.”

\----

Cullen's knees went a little weak for that. He still couldn’t believe that anyone would be _happy_ to see him, least of all the beautiful man at his side. The feeling like this was some sort of alternate reality set in again as he placed a quick kiss on Dorian's cheek.

“I'm glad you asked,” he said, voice soft, “It was a nice surprise,” he paused then, considering, “But are you… ok? You said you'd had a bad day…”

\----

And of course Cullen would ask. It wasn’t so much him being nosey, since Dorian had mentioned it, but just... asking. He was aware of as much. People did, despite his annoyance at as much sometimes, ask questions because they cared. Sera did it and it took him a little while to be okay with it. Now he almost enjoyed having someone to actually talk about things with... when they did that. Her home life hadn’t been so great either, so they had that in common. Now, maybe, he had someone else.

“Nothing life altering,” he answered, “just... ah, I got a call from a friend back in Tevinter, and he said my parents were asking questions again.” Dorian shrugged then, “it happens every few months. He lied and said he hadn’t heard from me, but it usually means I need to keep an eye out in case they’ve sent someone to sniff me out... again. Felix usually keeps me updated because his parents and mine still run in the same circles.”

\----

Cullen nodded. _Family._ Dorian had dropped hints here and there that family was a source of… stress for him. Enough so that it warranted therapy sessions and, presumably, more than a few meds. Cullen had never met these people, but he already didn't like them.

He couldn't say he knew that particular issue. His own family had been, well, a rare case of caring and supportive. A family that argued, yes, but actually liked each other and genuinely wanted the best for one another. He'd been exceedingly lucky on that front. There were no snide remarks when he'd decided to pursue music as an actual career, no withering glares when some of the dates he'd gone on had been with other guys. Oh, they joked and teased, they all did, but it was always on top of the undercurrent of acceptance and love.

Until he'd burned those bridges during the darkest days after Ella, that is. Cullen hadn't spoken with his sisters or brother in… what, 2 years? His chest ached as he remembered the heartbreak on Mia’s face when she'd had enough of the lying and stealing, the danger he posed to her son, and she told him he had to move out. He'd said some things then, nasty things that he regretted now that he was clean, and hadn't contacted her after. At first, it was out of anger. Now, it was out of shame. He didn't know what to say to her. To any of them.

No, Cullen couldn't say that he understood what it was like to have a _bad_ family, but he understood the complex emotions any family inspired. He understood guilt and anxiety and depression and everything in between where family was concerned, and his heart went out to Dorian.

One day, maybe he'd learn the why, but for now, the what was enough.

He leaned in, public be damned, and kissed Dorian, pressing scarred lips against his for just a moment as he squeezed the man tighter. “I know I've been… busy… but you know if you want to talk or just _do something_ to get your mind off… things… you just have to ask, right?”

\----

“I appreciate that,” he answered softly and leaned in a bit, “that’s... why I called.” Hearing the offer out loud in real time was nice, though. Most people he knew weren’t about the _talking_ so much. Not that Dorian needed to expound endlessly on the subject, but sometimes just a quick word about _why_ he felt the way he did helped. Small things like that were often the most important.

The hand resting on Cullen’s hip moved a little and he ran it along the man’s side as he leaned up for another kiss. It wasn’t anything too deep or anything, just something sweet, and Dorian smiled a little when he pulled away, “Right now, this is what I need,” he told him, “this and a night not to think about it.”

\----

Cullen drew in a little closer. “Then let's not think about it,” he said, voice cast a little lower than normal as he brought one hand up, thumb stroking that little dark mark on Dorian's cheekbone that he just loved.

“Oi. Lovebirds. Order’s up.”

_Well, there went that._ Cullen snickered a bit, cutting his eyes to the side as he scratched the back of his neck before moving to get the food. He handed a beer to Dorian, then grabbed the container of sliders and his own beer.

“Is it time to head back so I can learn more about this _wibbly_ thing Sera’s on about?”

\----

Something about that actually made his stomach do flips. When was the last time someone had said that to him about any of his... well, anyone? Maybe, once upon a time when he was in school and actually went on, but never like this. Dorian was always the ‘classy until they got home’ type. Or in a cab. Groping in public wasn’t really his thing.

But there was something good about having that little moment just because they could. For someone else to see it, that they were so wrapped up in each other, it was very nice. More than nice. A word Dorian didn’t quite know, which was a real feat. It made him smile and he accepted the beer with a soft laugh before he took a drink. It was cold and only a little bitter and tasted good on his tongue.

“I’m never _wibbly_ ,” he stated with a smile and rested a hand on Cullen’s back as they started back, “maybe a little... _taken_ , but never _wibbly_. It’s been a while since I’ve, um, been interested in more than a night or two.”

\----

_More than a night or two?_

Cullen took that in, mind turning it over and over again. He couldn't process it, couldn't pack it away neatly. It didn't fit in any box or bin to be stored away, so it just rambled around his brain for a while as they walked, kicking up questions he couldn't ask. _What does that mean? Am I different somehow?_

_What are we?_

He realized he'd fallen silent. Dorian probably expected some sort of response or reaction. Something, anyway, and Cullen was offering nothing. _Just… think about it later, ok?_

He gulped down a few large swallows of his beer and smiled over at Dorian, perhaps not as brightly as before, but a smile nonetheless. “Taken, eh?”

\----

He cast a glance sideways and took another drink of his beer, “Quite, actually,” Dorian answered, “I think from that first time I saw you on the platform.”

\----

Cullen narrowly succeeded in swallowing a mouthful of beer without incident, but it was a close thing. _Maker's breath, how long ago was that?_ He felt his insides warm, going just a little melty, as the discomfort of that last comment of Dorian's evaporated.

“Ah, I'm sure the draw of the starving artist was too much…” he said with a little self-depreciative snort.

\----

“You’d be surprised,” he pointed out. It had been incredibly sudden, more sudden than he could remember it being in the past, and even at the time he’d been surprised. Dorian was no stranger to finding someone hot, possibly making out with them a bit at a bar and going home with them, but something about Cullen had gotten into his head. He remembered that much. That had never happened before. “Definitely made me look forward to getting out of work a little more,” Dorian went on, “and make me miss the usual to stick around for a later train on occasion.”

As they got back to the table, Sera waved her drink at them, “Come _on_!” she shouted, “we have to have a toast, and you’re dragging your arses!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published role play between sallyamongpoinson (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	11. I Love a Parade [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen has an interesting conversation with Dagna and the boys talk of attachment.

Cullen's pace slowed as he watched Dorian approach his two friends, eyes a bit wider than usual and jaw maybe just a little slack. _He started taking that train… to see me? How is that even possible?_

With a little shake of his head, Cullen joined the friends at the table, setting the food down and stealing a glance at Dorian's face.

Another thing to mull over later, it seemed.

“What are we toasting, if I can ask?”

\----

Sera thought on that for a moment, looked between Cullen and Dorian, then back to Dagna, “Getting away from shitty, gay-bashing family.”

At that, Dorian chuckled, “Good one to toast to,” he agreed and raised his bottle, “and to going out so we forget they exist.”

Dagna lifted a hand to rub at Sera’s back then and lifted her cup, “Cheers!”

\----

_Well, there’s part of that question answered._ He'd hoped that wasn't it, but there it was. To whatever extent, Dorian's family didn't approve of his… preferences, as Dorian had put it one rainy day a while back. They were all smiling as they clinked cups and bottles, but Cullen couldn't help but feel a little weight in his heart.

He suddenly felt a bit like an outsider. They were drinking to something he'd only just learned about, and even then only because Sera said something. Had he been too timid? Too content to let Dorian tell him whatever he needed to at his own pace? Maker, had he been too wrapped up in his own shit to even try to get to know Dorian?

He raised his bottle, more to be polite than out of any understanding, thinking that maybe he should try just a little harder. 

\----

As glass and plastic knocked together, Dorian smiled and downed a good portion of his beer. It felt like the right thing to do, after all. Celebrating being away from it was better than thinking about it, anyway. “This is what I needed, I think,” he commented, and turned to run a hand along Cullen’s back before he dropped himself rather dramatically on one of the benches of the table.

By now Sera was starting to look more than a bit wobbly, though Dagna seemed to have a good handle on her. The much smaller girl smiled, and gathered them up at the table, “We’re probably going to head out,” she told them, “but maybe do brunch tomorrow?”

Dorian nodded, “That one’ll need some hair of the dog for sure.”

“Will not!” Sera snapped, and stuck out her tongue.

“I’ll believe that when you’re not praying for death,” Dorian teased.

At that, Dagna patted her pockets, then looked down at the cup and small pile of trash from their food, “Will you help me carry this, Cullen?” she asked, “Dorian can start on those sliders.”

\----

“Of course,” Cullen replied, then directed his attention to Dorian, “Leave a few for me, ok?”

He helped Dagna gather up the trash and started walking with her towards the nearest trashcan, wondering what he should say to her. For the millionth time in his life, he found himself wishing that he was one of those people who were always comfortable, even with strangers.

\----

Once they were away from the table by a few paces, Dagna turned to look up at Cullen, “Can you... do me a favor maybe?” she asked.

\----

Cullen looked down at the handful of trash he carried as he realized that wasn't why she asked him to follow her. He cleared his throat. “If I can, of course.” She seemed nice enough, and Dorian clearly trusted her. He'd be glad to help, providing it was something he could do.

\----

Dagna’s eyes cut back toward the table where Dorian was wrestling with Sera over one of the chips, “I’ve had to wrangle both of them on the back of a…” she paused and frowned thoughtfully, “parental incident. Could you just keep an eye on Dorian? He’s going to do what he’s going to do, which is going to be drinking until he can’t stand up, but... you know, make sure he gets home and everything. Try to pour some water in him if you can. He’ll argue, but he never gets too belligerent.”

\----

Cullen took a breath as he regarded her with her face full of concern. She was asking _him_ to take care of Dorian. He could hardly take care of himself.

But that wasn't right, was it? At least tonight, he'd felt more together, more real, more like _Cullen_ than he had in a good long while. And hadn't he just promised himself to try harder? Yes, he'd decided that he wouldn't be so stuck in his own head that he neglected those around him, that he neglected Dorian, at least.

“I can do that,” he answered, “But, Dagna, how bad is it?” He knew he should probably ask the man himself, but if he didn't want to even think about it…

\----

“He’ll get a little sloppy, a lot angry, but usually it’s easy to get him calm enough to go home,” she explained, “it’s usually better without them egging each other on, which is why I’m taking Sera home. It might not be so bad that way.”

\----

He tossed his handful of trash in the can and wiped his hands on his pants as he nodded. He'd had to retrieve Samson and make sure he got home enough times that he knew the drill. He just didn't expect he'd have to do that now, with Dorian. Part of him hoped Dagna was blowing it out of proportion, but all the clues indicated that she wasn't.

Still, Cullen understood the need, the drive to find something to just make his mind stop spinning in endlessly tightening spirals. He felt the urge to just take Dorian back home _right now_ and wrap him up until it had passed, like Dorian had done for him. Did he even dare?

“I'll make sure he's safe,” he nodded. It was all he could do.

\----

She nodded, “I appreciate that,” and smiled up at him, “he seems to really like you. Otherwise I’d stick around so he wouldn’t be by himself. Um... I can give you my number if you need it,” Dagna offered, “you probably won’t, but in case anything happens?”

\----

“Please,” he answered as he dug his phone out of his bag, created a new contact, and handed it to Dagna for her to enter her number. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but it was a huge relief to know that backup was a call away.

\----

Dagna put her number in Cullen’s phone and handed it back, “There,” she told him, “I’m sure we’ll meet up for lunch or something tomorrow. It was really nice to meet you, though. Dorian doesn’t, ah... date much. Not enough for us to ever meet anybody anyway.”

\----

That made sense. At least, it did based on what Dorian had said earlier. _One or two nights. Only one or two nights._ Cullen couldn't think about that now, or what that implied. There were demons down that path, ready and waiting with jibes and jeers that would leave him numb and vulnerable again. He couldn't do that. Not now that he had to hold it together for someone. For Dorian.

They turned to walk back to the group. “I'm… well, I like him, too… but I'm not sure this is _dating_. Not that… not that I wouldn't want that… I just… we haven't talked about it. And I don't know what he's said about me, but this whole thing… it might be pity, I don't know.” Maker, he was rambling. Why was he rambling? He didn't know the small woman walking at his side, doubted she needed to know any of that, but the words just tumbled out without a filter. Maybe he just needed this to get out before he was with Dorian again, so it wouldn't leak out and bring them both down into his own shit again. “It's just hard to believe, you know. We're… different.”

_Maker, shut up, Rutherford._

\----

She giggled for that and patted Cullen’s arm, “He likes you,” Dagna told him, “trust me.” Her eyes studied Cullen’s face for a long moment, “he wouldn’t have asked you to come after something happened with the parents if he didn’t. That sort of thing is reserved for people he’s close to.”

\----

For the embarrassment he felt at having spilled even that much of his doubt, Cullen did feel better hearing Dagna say those words. He'd feel even better if he could clear up the air with Dorian, but tonight… may not be the night for _that_ talk. And of course, there was still the fear.

He cleared his throat and nodded, “I… mmm.. thanks. Sorry for the sudden melodrama.” As they got closer to the group, he tapped out a quick text to Dagna and hit send. “There. Now you have mine… so you know who's on the other end should something happen.”

He looked up and saw Dorian and Sera, laughing or fighting over something, he couldn't tell which with them.

_Give him water. Let him get it out. Get him home. Keep him safe._

That was Cullen's new mission for the night.

\----

After some quick goodbye hugs and kisses, Dagna managed to get Sera away by linking her arm around the blonde’s waist and leading her back toward the entrance. That left Dorian and Cullen alone, and Dorian took a deep breath before he smiled up at Cullen and gestured to their small tray that was only missing most of the chips, “Now that we won’t be interrupted, hm?” he asked with a small smile, “happy as I am to have met them here, but you know…”

\----

“Indeed. They seem nice,” Cullen replied, watching them go, “Wouldn't mind spending more than a few minutes with them.” And, surprisingly enough, that was the truth.

Cullen considered for a moment - _do I sit next to him or across from him?_ \- before taking a spot on the bench next to Dorian. After the conversation with Dagna, his nerves were a bit on edge. He tried to move naturally, but it was a losing battle. His posture was a bit stiff, his movements overly jerky as he reached for his beer and finished most of it off in one go.

_You'll make yourself sick if you worry like this all night._

He took a deep breath as he felt the alcohol’s warmth spreading. It was calming, at least, though he'd have to cut himself off soon. “Glad to see you saved me a chip or two…”

\----

When Cullen sat, Dorian smiled and reached out a hand to rest it on the man’s knee. “The next time Sera hasn’t been drinking since noon,” he promised, “they’re good people. Dagna always says Sera and I could be siblings for how we fight. I can’t imagine that. It sounds exhausting.” He chuckled then and picked up one of the sliders to inspect, “I was a bit worried you might not want anyone else around, but... I mean, spending all our time together at my place seems a little sad, doesn’t it?”

\----

Normally, Cullen liked a laid back weekend, but considering _how_ they'd spent their time together, he agreed with Dorian's assessment. With the exception of that one weekend… well, yes, it was sad. And even that weekend had started off badly.

Cullen grabbed a slider himself and took a bite. Delicious. Food would surely make him feel better. Stronger, at least.

“I won't lie, I was nervous when you said they were here,” he replied, “but meeting your friends was… nice.” It was, really. Cullen felt like it _meant_ something, and he couldn't help the sheepish grin that came on then, “I got to hear that maybe you have a ‘dopey grin’ sometimes, too, so that's a plus.”

\----

“I should have denied that,” he sighed, and took a bite of the burger in his hand. It was rather good. A good start to hopefully a decent evening. He’d already drained his beer while Cullen and Dagna were off before, and he was already looking forward to something else. Food first, though. It wouldn’t do to be sick right off. “You can’t tell me you _don’t_ , though,” Dorian commented after a moment, “because I refuse to believe anyone _wouldn’t_ get a dopey smile over me.”

\----

Cullen's eyebrows arched. “Indeed?” he asked, “Well, even if I do, _I_ have no witnesses to reveal my secrets.” He cocked his head to the side, smirking over at Dorian, “But I'll keep an eye out for the army of men mooning over you.”

Banter. It was just playful banter, but Cullen knew that last part, that hinted at what he wanted to know. _Are we a ‘we’? Are there others?_ It would be easier, he knew, if he just said something, asked directly, but he couldn't bring himself to add to Dorian's troubles tonight. So, he'd prodded... without really meaning to, but there it was.

\----

He scoffed. Nice sentiment that it was, the mental image of an actual army making eyes at him was a bit off-putting, “Hardly an army,” Dorian deadpanned before he shook his head, “maybe a _few_ and out of that perhaps a _handful_ with any real seriousness.” Grey eyes lifted to meet Cullen’s then. There had been a few women at the shows he’d seen. They watched him like Dorian watched him. They were interested, really interested, and he’d never seen Cullen look at them with anything like the same expression. Clearly, he was interested in Dorian (of course he was) if the kisses and the sex were anything to go by, but Dorian had to wonder.

The man had been married. To a woman. Of course he could roll with being with a bisexual, that wasn’t a problem, but more the problem came up that Cullen had been married and very clearly hadn’t dated anyone since the accident that killed his wife. That was a very different story to a man who was divorced or something like that. It was a sudden end to something that had been, or at least sounded like based on what the man had said that night, a very wonderful relationship.

Being the first one after something like that, even five years later, was a little scary. It made Dorian wonder how much of it was Cullen wanting _him_ and Cullen wanting _someone_. He’d never say it was a _fair_ assessment, and asking as much would only prompt issues, but they still really were issues.

After... Rilienus. Even now, really, Dorian had to wonder if the men he wanted were because he wanted _them_ or because he’d had his heart broken. Or because he wanted to prove to himself that they’d all be _wrong,_ and that he could find someone. A man. A man who would actually care about him and love him like a woman wouldn’t.

Because that had worked _so well_ thus far, but that was hardly the point.

“And what about you?” Dorian asked after a pause, “all dressed up like this? I’m sure there’s a fair few ladies who’d be batting their eyelashes your way. Men, too. Self included.”

\----

Well that… that didn't help. Was that handful, as Dorian had put it, current?

_Stop it. Either ask the man or don't. Tonight isn't the night for this._

Cullen wasn't good at letting go, so his mind had grabbed onto those few comments - _one or two nights, Dorian doesn't date much,_ and now _a handful -_ and held them tightly, revolving them around and around. Any other time, he'd lose himself in agonizing scrutiny that would end in an uneasy stalemate and maybe a battle of wills to _stay out_ of Samson’s room. Tonight, though, he'd have to let go. There was a reason he was even there, after all.

Another deep breath, and he felt fingers releasing their grip on those thoughts, packing them away for inspection later.

_A fair few ladies batting their eyelashes your way…_

He snorted at that. “Please,” he scoffed, “I highly doubt that,” he said as he finished off his slider and washed it down with the rest of his beer. A thought struck him then that made him break eye contact and brought a heat to his face. “Besides… yours is the only attention worth having.”

\----

Before he could really stop himself, Dorian’s stomach did a flip for that. He’d give it to Cullen, this kind of talk did make him forget the shitty conversation with Felix. Maybe he did need to go out with people on the heels of something like that instead of locking himself in his flat to drink himself stupid. Clearly, this was working a lot better for him. “So’s yours,” he offered after a long moment and leaned over to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “which means we’re having the best time here. I’m happy with that, if I’m honest. Better than what my plans were initially.”

\----

Relief. That's what washed over Cullen then. Relief at hearing Dorian valued his attention, yes, but also a huge wave of it for the idea that maybe they could turn this ship, that maybe Dagna’s prediction wouldn't come true. He wouldn't mind drinking with Dorian in fun, of course, but it was how Dagna had hinted at the _way_ she thought Dorian would be tonight - angry and drinking to forget - that had had him on edge. He knew that behavior _intimately,_ and wouldn't wish the reasons for it or repercussions of it on anyone, least of all someone he had… feelings for.

He fully relaxed then, actually scooting closer to Dorian on that uncomfortable bench and repaying Dorian's kiss with one of his own, eyes darting around to see if anyone was looking first, of course.

“Your plans didn't originally include tiny hamburgers and talk of being _wibbly_ and who values whose attentions then?” he laughed.

\----

Dorian shook his head, “I had every intention of getting so drunk I couldn’t stand,” he answered, “might still do.” He picked up another slider then, “but I can do that _while_ we talk about those things, though I’ll maintain forever that I’m not _wibbly_. Ever.”

\----

_Might still do_ was better than _definitely will._ Cullen decided he'd take it, but remain wary. Still, if he could keep Dorian's attention away from whatever was bothering him, maybe _might still do_ would turn into _hey, let's take this back to my place before I'm so far gone I need help getting there._

Diversion. Cullen needed to be a diversion tonight. He hoped he was up to the task.

“But if you can't stand, I'm sure the conversation would suffer, and then where would we be?” Cullen teased, munching on the last of the chips.

\----

“Listen to you, looking out for my well-being,” Dorian chuckled, “such a nice boy. However did I get so lucky?” Maker help him. Cullen was entirely too... kindhearted? That was a good word for it. Kindhearted. Warm. _Nice_. “Remind me to keep that cosmic goodness going, hm?”

\---- 

Cullen laughed at that with more than a little incredulity. _Dorian lucky? I'm the lucky one here._ The more he thought about it, the more he knew it was true. Before he'd met Dorian, would he ever have imagined himself out with someone, _anyone_ , feeling so much like his old self? Because, despite the uncertainty Cullen felt and the cloud that still hung around from Dagna’s warning, he did feel a little bit like the man he'd been once.

No, Cullen was the lucky one here.

“You just keep being you, then,” he smiled, reaching for Dorian's hand and bringing it to his lips. “Feel like walking around a bit? I could stand to not be on this bench much longer…”

\----

“Yeah, alright,” Dorian agreed with a nod before he wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin, “I could do with something to walk and drink. We can maybe see if there’s some entertainment to be had around here.” Besides, walking hand in hand with Cullen sounded... amazingly normal. It had been a long time since Dorian had done anything of the sort with someone for a longer stint than just club to cab to door. “Bench too hard for your delicate sensibilities, then?” he teased, “surprising.”

\----

Cullen smiled and rolled his eyes with a sigh as he gathered up their trash. “It's less my delicate sensibilities and more the fact that I've got a bad back.” He stood and grumbled, “At least, I have ever since Branson thought it a good idea tackle me into a tree the last time we all got together.” He glanced over at Dorian and took a pause. Should he really be talking about his family? Dorian obviously had problems with his, and truthfully, thinking about Bran and his sisters… well, it was more than a little painful for him, too. “Not that you want to hear about my idiot brother…” Cullen's voice trailed off as they walked.

\----

“Is he younger?” Dorian asked as he gathered up the rest of their trash to throw it away when they came across a bin, “the younger ones always seem to be that way. So I hear.” The idea of siblings sounded so tiring. Then again, perhaps a brother would have let his parents split their attention. That might have been a blessing. “Let me guess that you’re the bigger of the two?”

\----

“Oh, yes. Bran is younger, faster, smarter, and more handsome. At least to hear him talk, he is,” Cullen smiled, a bit wistfully.

Cullen was surprised that Dorian didn't redirect. He was asking, so maybe that meant this much was ok? Despite the pain, it also felt good to talk about them, really. Maker help him, he missed all of them. Maybe it was time to reach out, now that he'd been clean for a while. Or maybe he should wait a bit longer… just in case.

“I'm the eldest of four, actually. My two sisters are less destructive, luckily.”

\----

“Four?” Dorian asked, “Maker help your parents. How did they ever get anything done with four children in the house?” To hear Aquinea talk, one was the equivalent of a nuclear bomb going off in all directions at all times. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been in a house with four children that were related... well, not since I was very young, anyway. It’s not really the Tevinter way.”

\----

“It's a little known secret that once a kid turns 5 or 6, they _can_ be helpful,” Cullen laughed as he tossed their bottles and food containers in a trash can. He looped his arm through Dorian's and pushed him with a little grin, “How do you think I learned to cook? I was the built-in help until I left for college.” They took a few more steps before he added, “Only child, I take it?” He didn't know if that was too much, but he wanted to know more about Dorian, the things that made him happy as well as the things that made him sad.

\----

He nodded, “Only child in a very long line of only children,” Dorian affirmed, “and the only thing I was allowed to help do was stand there and make my parents look good.” Suddenly, it was like a hundred flashes of memory, all of which included him sitting at the end of a couch and wishing he were anywhere but there. Ugh. Yes, a drink was going to be necessary soon. “But the cooking thing makes sense now,” he mused, “I imagine once you’re tall enough to reach all the buttons and not burn yourself, it's a useful thing.”

\----

_Ok,_ Cullen thought, noticing that Dorian didn't linger on the topic of his childhood, _it's ok to talk about mine. Maybe not his._

“Oh, incredibly so. Knowing how to cook helped mom and dad… and later me when I found I was the only one who could boil water in the house.”

_Oh. Ella. This reminiscing might not be a great idea._

Cullen cleared his throat. “The roommates aren't great with anything more complicated than ramen,” he finished lamely.

\----

“Oh,  no,” Dorian chided and held up a hand, “we’re not thinking about shitty roommates or anything like that today.” He gave Cullen a look and managed a small smile, “We’re going to pick up cocktails in offensive colors, I don’t care whether you want a beer or not, and we’re going to have a fantastic time. The best cure for any ill, shitty roommates or... parents or whatever, is a bright blue drink with a paper umbrella in it. You can’t be upset when you have a paper umbrella. It’s the law.”

\----

_And back to the drinking. Good job, Cullen._

But maybe it would still be ok. He was there with Dorian; he'd make sure nothing happened to him and that he got home. Who was Cullen, really, to say no? Who was he to judge how others coped with stress? But he still felt uneasy.

“And yet I manage every time. But, fine, blue drinks with paper umbrellas it is. I believe this round is on me?”

\----

There was little better than being bought fancy drinks by handsome men. Dorian loved that. “It is,” he affirmed, “and I might get us some popcorn or something to nibble on with it. Keep the stomach full, right? Better than getting incredibly sloppy right off the bat.” That was more care than he usually took. Despite his desire to forget, there was also something else: they were talking. Getting to know each other. They were doing that thing that normal people did when they went out the first few times. Dorian didn’t want to forget that.

\----

“You? Sloppy? I don't believe such a thing can happen,” Cullen teased - _keep it light_ \- before relenting, “But you're gonna have to help me… you're the expert in the types of drinks that come with… ugh… paper umbrellas.” He wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. “Though I do believe I once said you could pick the drinks for us… I try to be a man of my word.”

\----

Dorian wrapped his arm around Cullen’s waist and smiled, “Good to know,” he chuckled and leaned up on his toes to nuzzle his face in against Cullen’s neck. That closeness was just as addictive as the booze. “Come on,” he prompted and led them into a line that was running from what looked to be a truck of some kind. People were coming away with tall glasses filled with what looked like neon slushies covered in fruit, flowers, and the titular paper umbrellas. Like summer in a cup. That was what they needed, after all. “I may need to ask you what cologne you wear,” he teased in against Cullen’s throat, “I like it.”

\----

Cullen smiled at that gentle nuzzle, suddenly wishing they were somewhere more private so he wouldn't feel so self conscious about returning the affection. They _could_ just go, and then he could show all the… affection he wanted to. It had been a long month after that one weekend, after all. A month spent working and thinking of Dorian… and thinking of Dorian's _shower_ every time he was in his own. Speaking of which…

Cullen snickered, “I don't. You're smelling generic men's shower gel number one. But the drug store will be happy to know you like it.”

\----

He smirked, “Remind me to get you something good then,” Dorian commented, “and not just generic.” As Cullen was very much not that. Still, there was something about that clean sort of something that made his skin thrill just a little. They could relax, they could... talk. Be. It wasn’t quite the crisis. “So tell me about the music,” Dorian commented, “tell me about Uni and playing there. Surely you have some fun stories about all that. Playing for everyone on the dorm floor, whether they liked it or not, and locking yourself in a practice room? That kind of thing?”

\----

Cullen chuckled at that as his face went a bit softer, calling up memories from when everything seemed possible. “Ahhh, I tended to be fairly by the book… I doubt any of my stories would be int…. Wait!” he started laughing as he slung his arm across Dorian's shoulders, “Ok, so there was this one time… during finals, freshman year, I think. I was still in the dorms, either way,” Cullen paused, staring up at the sky as his mind retrieved the tale.

“Finals were almost over, but we were exhausted. It was one of our first finals weeks, so there may have been a bit more worry or stress than was needed. Anyway, the point is,” he took a breath, “My mind wasn't working properly. It doesn't when I'm that tired. You may have noticed,” he shrugged and gave Dorian a sheepish grin.

“Anyway, the fire alarm went off in the dead of night. My roommates and I had just crawled into our beds. When the alarm sounded, we all jumped up, half dead, scrambling to grab the things we needed to go outside,” he paused for a moment to breathe and make sure Dorian wasn't bored with his story. They took a few steps forward in line before he continued.

“When we got outside, though, we found that perhaps we'd prioritized the wrong things. All four of us were wearing only boxers or pajama pants and nothing else, but I'll be damned if we didn't have our bookbags and instruments with us,” he chuckled, remembering himself as that scrawny, barechested kid a million years ago.

“We decided to make the most of the wait for the fire department to come out and sweep the building, so we set up and played until dawn. We were zombies for the last day of finals, but it was kind of what we needed to get out of the funk,” he paused and looked over at Dorian, “And that is the story of how I played a set in front of the rising sun in naught but my boxers and flip flops.”

\----

He couldn’t help but chuckle for that. It was quite the mental image, after all. Dorian could only imagine what a barely-legal Cullen would have looked like with his guitar and bags and everything in the middle of the night. It would have been a sight to see, for sure, especially at that age. never mind a great way to wake up and spend the last day of finals.

“Well, I can’t say we ever had quite that eventful of a Finals week,” he answered, “not quite like that anyway. There were a few 'being locked out of the house in the middle of winter' situations, but winter back home and winter here are two completely different things.” A memory of Lucian sleeping on their porch swing came back to him then, and Dorian chuckled. They’d been assholes back then. “More drinking until we couldn’t function to offset the stress,” he went on, then gestured to himself, “some habits never change, hm?”

\----

“But some do,” Cullen said, suddenly serious. He'd said it without really thinking. Well, that wasn't right. He was thinking of the boy he'd been, the man he'd been, and how a habit - dependency - had twisted them into something else. He had to believe habits could change - _had to._ Or else what was all this for?

And then there was Dorian, battling something on his own, dropping bits and pieces of the story, but mostly trying to fight in silence. That was a hard road to follow, and Cullen's heart went out to him, despite the glib tone Dorian had affected. There was _something_ there, and it ran deep. Cullen could see it around his eyes tonight, even as they'd joked.

“I mean… ah... ignore me. Please. Carry on. I'd like to hear about Dorian in college. Surely, you have something to top mine.”

\----

The arm around Cullen’s waist tightened a little. He’d changed a lot of the habits that got him into trouble, though that mostly came with age. Being the aggressively flamboyant type didn’t sit so well anymore, not after a few punch ups and family issues, so he was more reserved than he’d been as a teenager. That, and he did his laundry a lot more often. Better things.

The prompting of Uni stories, though...Maker help him. Most of them started and ended with “and then we got blind drunk” because that’s what kids with trust funds did. They drank, they did drugs, they traveled. It was all very boring when you actually thought about it. “Only that a friend of mine tried to marry a...lady of the evening in Rivain when he was twenty,” Dorian commented, “we were there for a week and he’d fallen in love the second night. The next few days were a struggle, as she was very obviously Not Interested in capitals. He didn’t see it that way.”

\----

Cullen snorted, “Poor boy. Still, two days? That's… a rather short amount of time to decide on marriage, even at that age.” He shook his head, wondering if he'd ever been so foolhardy as a kid. “I hope he was able to pick up the pieces and carry on…”

\----

“Once he dried out a little it was alright,” he answered with a nod and chuckled a little, “but we did give him shit for it for years after. Any trip he went on we’d start asking him about deals for quickie weddings.” Most of his friends, if not all of them, were married now. None of them had been the quickie wedding they’d almost hoped would happen either. Sadly. “Alright, so,” Dorian mused as they moved up in the line, “I’m thinking a frozen blue daiquiri for myself. What’re you having? Keep in mind the umbrella clause.”

\----

“I haven’t forgotten,” Cullen grumbled, “Maker, I don't even know. I assume there are actual flavors, not just colors… what flavor is _blue_ , anyway?”

He scanned the menu as they walked up to the counter. They had a peach thing. Good. He liked peaches. At least he could order a drink that bore resemblance to an actual _thing_ , not a color. Cullen ordered their drinks, only rolling his eyes a little as he did, and asked for two bottles of water as well.

“There, umbrella drinks incoming,” he said as they stepped aside to wait. He held out a bottle to Dorian, “Depending on how many of _those_ you want, this’ll make the morning a little easier. Trust me.”

\----

Oh Cullen was a good boy, wasn’t he? He got water for them both, showed up with hardly and prompting, and seemed genuinely interested in hugging Dorian for no reason other than because they were there. Sweet. The man was incredibly sweet. And thoughtful. Thoughtful wasn’t a word Dorian got to use very often, but it seemed to work rather well in Cullen’s case.

As they waited, Dorian actually uncapped the bottle and took a few drinks. His mind wasn’t muddled yet, but he was actually thirsty. The water was a good thing. “Saying you don’t want to wake up and see me praying for swift death?” he teased, “or vice versa?”

\----

“Either,” Cullen chuckled, “It's not as much fun when you know you'll spend the next day hoping some kind soul will just remove your head from your shoulders.” He ran a hand down Dorian's shoulders to rest at the small of his back as he leaned in, voice low, “My actions aren't _entirely_ unselfish, you see.”

_Maker, what's wrong with me?_ He thought as he moved to go retrieve the drinks. _I'm trying to get him home, not get into his pants. Not necessarily, anyway. I'm not some teenage boy._

\----

Dorian smirked, “Here I hoped that would be the case,” and took another drink from the water as he watched Cullen go. It was always interesting to see those flashes of the not-quite so shy man underneath it all. He knew they were in there, Dorian was sure of it, and it always made him a little happy to know that Cullen wasn’t shaking in his boots every time they got together. That kind of thing made him feel like a bad person. This? He could do this.

That, and watching him move in those chinos was a glorious sight. One of these days Dorian would have to replace all of Cullen’s pants with ones that made his ass look that good.

\----

Face still burning from his last little… comment, Cullen returned, drinks in hand. He had been going for light flirting to distract, but that had been one too far. Dorian brought that out in him, though, and the man seemed pretty damned pleased with himself now, so maybe that was ok.

“Your _blue_ drink, sir. And maybe you can explain the purpose of all these… _garnishes_? Is there a drink in there?” Cullen asked, gesturing to all the fruit and, yes, even flowers that adorned their drinks. And, of course, the paper umbrellas. “Why umbrellas? Does anyone even know?”

\----

“Are you always so inquisitive about cocktails?” Dorian asked as he picked up a bit of pineapple. He smirked, took a bite of it so some of the juice ran down his lips, and he lifted his hand to Cullen, ” _this_ is why all the fruit. Who doesn’t love sharing, hm?”

\----

_Maker, help me._ Cullen thought as he watched Dorian take that bite. He knew it was for show - how could it not be - but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good one. He found himself thinking he’d rather taste those _lips_ than that bit of pineapple, and if it weren’t for the crowds around them, he may have. Why were they even there anymore? Right, bad day. Drinking. _Pull it together, Rutherford._

_For fuck’s sake, it’s a piece of fruit. Stop deliberating over every little thing._

Surprising even himself, he leaned forward and took the offered tidbit, teeth grazing Dorian’s fingers for the briefest of moments before he moved back. _I am a weak man._

Cullen cleared his throat and took an exploratory sip of his own drink before looking back over at Dorian, “... so, where to now?”

\----

Something stirred in him for that little brush of teeth. That was what Dorian had hoped for. It chased away any other thought save what it would be like to have Cullen nibbling at other parts of him. “Maybe just walk for a while?” he asked, and sucked the remaining juice off his fingers before he looped his arm back around Cullen’s waist, “it’s nice to see you out in the sunshine. All that light makes your hair look like gold, did you know that?”

\----

Cullen let out a little chuff at that. Gold? Really? But he still felt himself go a little loose at the compliment, absurd as it was. “No, no, I can't say as that thought ever crossed my mind,” he replied. Then, a little smile formed on his face as he got an idea. “But here…” he said as he reached back and pulled his hair out of the knot he'd put it in earlier, letting those damned curls fall as they would. He shook his head a bit to loosen them. “For the full effect, I suppose.”

\----

Immediately, Dorian grabbed the hair tie and slid it over his wrist, “That’s what I was hoping for,” he pointed out and ruffled those soft curls. Maker, he could have touched that hair all day. “Have I mentioned that you’re about the complete opposite to anyone I’ve ever… ” he paused then and sipped his drink, “dated really isn’t the right word, actually. Ah, been attracted to, I suppose? Elected to spend my personal time with?”

\----

A sharp exhale of breath escaped scarred lips then. Was that it? Was that his answer? That this was just an attraction… one that was mutual, sure, but Cullen wasn't interested in _casual_. Cullen had never been interested in casual.

_Of course that's all this is. Look at him and look at you…_

Cullen’s jaw worked a bit, trying to find the words that would keep them moving. If he was scared to ask before, he was _terrified_ now. He didn't want whatever it was with Dorian to go away, and he didn't want to weigh the man down with his own insecurities… again.

“I…” he didn't like that shake in his voice, so he cleared his throat before continuing, “No, you hadn’t.”

\----

“You’re much... better than a lot of men I’ve known,” he told him a bit more seriously before he sipped his drink and smiled, “which you’ll argue, I know, but still.” Dorian nudged him then, “I appreciate that,” he went on, “and this thing we’ve got. I really do.”

He appreciated the way Cullen made his stomach do flips and the way he smiled when they were together. Dorian appreciated the fact that Cullen wasn’t an asshole that demanded too much or not enough. He was kind, and now that he seemed to be coming out of his shell a bit, he was _funny_ and sexy in a way Dorian had never known before. He was like some angel or man out of a myth that Dorian had read as a child.

“I know I said it before, but thanks for coming out today,” Dorian offered, “my family… things are really shitty with them, and being around you makes me feel a lot less like shit. That probably sounds terrible, but it’s true.”

\----

Oh, but this was torture, wasn't it? _This thing._ He fought the question, _what is this thing?,_ clipping its wings before it could fly from his mouth. He'd decided, hadn't he, that he wouldn't overburden Dorian with his shit? The man had enough going on without Cullen trying to force the issue. No, that conversation could wait until he wasn't dealing with family drama.

So, Cullen packed this latest thought away with the others to obsess over later.

He turned his mind, instead, to the fact that Dorian was opening up, even if only a little. It wasn't so much that Cullen wanted to know what was wrong out of curiosity. No, it was more that odd feeling of wanting to protect Dorian. To understand him. To be closer, even in what pains him. It was hard for Cullen to describe. Dorian was a grown man. He didn't need a protector, but the urge to take him home and wrap him up all night remained.

He couldn't do any of that though, so he opted instead to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer, just feeling his warmth for a moment before speaking. “Anytime, really. Just ask and I'll do what I can.” He pressed his lips to Dorian's shoulder then and added, “You're not terrible. You couldn't be terrible…. Not to me.”

\----

He chuckled and leaned his head on Cullen’s shoulder as he drank from his drink. “I promise not to take that as a challenge,” Dorian told him, and fished out another piece of pineapple to nibble on, “but thanks.” Just having that arm around him helped soothe the rough edges that seemed to make him feel raw a lot of the time. “I feel like I maybe haven’t told you much about… everything,” he commented after a few moments, “mostly because I don’t talk about it to anyone unless I’m sure they’re going to stick around. You know, the whole don’t get attached thing.”

They’d been doing this for a while, though. Not as a couple, perhaps, but something close regardless. More than friends. Lovers, surely. That was good enough for now. “But I’d like to talk with you about it,” Dorian went on before he looked up into those beautiful amber eyes, “since, um… since I would really like for you to stick around. Get attached, maybe, if you’d be game for it. Whenever it happens, if it happens.”

\---- 

That explained… so much. Not everything, but enough for Cullen to think he understood. Dorian had been hurt before, no one put up walls like that who hadn't been, and pretty badly if the hitch in his voice was anything to go on.

Walls, Cullen knew walls. Dorian had broken his easily, more easily than anyone had in the past 5 years, anyway, and it seemed like Cullen was finally seeing a peek at what lay beyond Dorian's. What Dorian hid from the world. What he protected.

And he _wanted_ to stick around. A few months ago, the thought of having someone this close, depending on him, maybe… it would have made him turn tail and run. It _had_ on several occasions. Connections complicated things. If no one depended on him, he couldn't let them down. Months ago, though, he was numb, the man he knew he could be was asleep, but now he was waking up again. Slowly and in pieces, but he couldn't deny it. Because of Dorian. Because of his jokes and smiles and gentle touches and his kindness. Especially  his kindness.

Did he really need to put a label on _that_?

Cullen stopped their walk then and turned to face Dorian, setting his drink on a nearby table so his hands were free to cup the man's face. The alcohol or the expanding warmth in his chest must have been getting to him, because suddenly, there was no crowd to be anxious of. All he saw were grey eyes looking into his own as he stroked Dorian's cheek with one of his thumbs.

“Whatever you need to tell me, I'll listen. When you're ready. I'd… I'd like to stick around. Get attached. Be here.”

And he did, Maker help him, he wanted whatever Dorian would give him, consequences be damned.

\----

He nodded. There wasn’t much else he could do. Any more and he might embarrass himself. There hadn’t been anyone so sincere toward him, not just _at_ him, in a very long time. Still, it was hard to be too concerned about it all when Cullen held him like that. Dorian was blushing, his cheeks tinted pink that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the sunshine, and he pressed his face in against the coolness of Cullen’s hand. “I’m glad,” he murmured after a moment and leaned up for a kiss, “I really like you. A lot.”

The hand not holding his drink ran along Cullen’s arm and Dorian smiled again, “There’s a lot, fair warning,” he began, “some of which... I’m not nearly drunk enough to talk about. That’s not a comment on you, just how it is. I’ll apologize in advance for that.”

\----

_I like you. A lot._

Cullen's heart made a little jump for those words, and he couldn't help the smile on his face as he returned Dorian's kiss. He let his hands run down Dorian's arms, wrapping his free hand with his own.

He nodded then. He understood that, too. There were things… details, shades… he hadn't shared. Those didn't affect the shape of his story, only served to make it darker, harder. He didn't think of those things himself, and kept them behind a locked door.

He smiled, eyes soft, “Then… that makes two of us. I… you're _important_ to me, and you don't have to apologize. You don't.”

\----

Dorian took a breath then and buried his face in against Cullen’s neck for a long moment. It was just nice to breathe him in with those arms around him, “Come on,” he prompted after a little while and took a long drink from his cup, “maybe we can find somewhere more comfortable than that bench to talk.” It would have been nice to find somewhere, maybe a patch of grass or something, where they could just... sit. Be comfortable but still be outside.

\----

“Of course,” Cullen said with a lopsided little grin. He picked up his own drink, popping one of the peach slices in his mouth, and held out his hand. “Lead on.”

Something had shifted. Cullen had spent the afternoon, fighting himself in his own head, agonizing over what things meant and what they were and whether he could really help Dorian… and here it had just happened on its  own. He was… happy, really happy, despite everything. Even the apprehension he felt at what Dorian's tale might include made him happy… Dorian trusted him enough to tell him after all. Just knowing someone _could_ trust him again, that meant… well, that meant so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	12. I Love a Parade [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian shares some of his story and Cullen reads a message he shouldn't have.

For as crowded as it was, space to just sit and relax was in short supply. Dorian was reasonably resourceful, however, and managed to find a spot on the ground that wasn’t terribly disgusting or surrounded by too many people. A blanket would have improved the situation, but it was what it was. It wasn’t a wooden table, and they could at least stretch out a little without too much trouble.

When they settled, Dorian took a rather bracing few drinks from his cup. It was cold and made the middle of his forehead ache a little. Somehow that helped, though. It felt a little dramatic to draw it out like this, which was why he never did it, and to sit and think about it made his heart rate jump to something a little painful. He’d committed, though. Clearly Cullen wanted to know, or... thought he did. That was the trouble, wasn’t it? Saying ‘I’ll listen and understand’ was a really nice thing, but the minute things got uncomfortable that promise was usually off the table. Usually.

He smiled over at Cullen and reached out to rest a hand on his knee. It was nice to have that little connection after all. “Is this better than the table?” he asked, “on your old man back?”

\----

“My ‘old man’ back is fine for now,” Cullen grumbled, but there was an impish grin on his face, “I'll let you know when it starts telling kids to get off its lawn, though.”

He took a few sips from his drink - he'd never admit to Dorian that he quite liked it - and set it down as he leaned back on his arms and stretched his legs out in front of him.

Cullen could feel the tension in the air… or maybe that was just him, but he felt like there were little sparks on his skin for how anxious he was. Was that what this was? Anxiety over whether he could be what Dorian needed him to be? Whatever the odd feeling was, it made him suddenly very self conscious and unsure of what to do now. It felt wrong to just… tell him to start talking.

He looked up at the sky. It was just starting to fade into the reds and oranges of sunset. “Nice night for it…” he commented, and winced for how… lame he sounded.

\----

He chuckled, “It is,” and squeezed Cullen’s knee. Maker bless the man, he was trying. Dorian knew that much, and he appreciated it. “So, um…” he began, “I’m not really sure where to start.” Which was true. Did he start with Halward and Aquinea and all of _their_ issues or just in with himself? There was a lot to untangle. “I guess that Sera laid it out pretty well before. Shitty bigoted parents,” he began, “her adopted mother’s much the same, so when it’s a bad situation like this we tend to egg each other on. It’s a bad habit, but it happens. We’re usually the one the other goes to when there’s a run-in. Or, I guess, almost one. Sort of.”

\----

 _What on earth did these people do that an “almost run in” has him on edge?_ Cullen sat up straight, brows knit in concern. He didn't want to seem insensitive or pushy, but it felt like Dorian needed to get some of this out. He'd been in those shoes recently; he knew how uncomfortable they were.

He heard himself echoing words Dorian had offered once several weeks ago when the situations were reversed. “Maybe start with what's bothering you now, and move from there? Did you hear from them?”

\----

“Not directly, no,” he answered, “like I said before, my friend Felix called me to tell me my parents had been asking questions again. His family is the one that sort of adopted me for a while, when things were bad, and if Halward and Aquinea want to know where I am they usually start there.” One hand swirled the slushy mess in his cup a bit, and Dorian took another drink, “I’ve had to change my phone number three times in as many years because they kept finding it. I’ll play the email game every so often because I don’t actually have to _talk_ to them that way, but it’s never enough.” Working somewhere that was easily findable really didn’t make it any easier, but Dorian wasn’t about to live in a hole just to escape his parents, after all.

He sighed, “The last time this happened, they hired someone to try to get in contact with me. I had to change all my details and, as it stands now, it’s to the point where I don’t get any phone calls directly to my line at work. They all go through a secretary. Because... of that.”

\----

Both of Cullen’s eyebrows raised for that. The people were hunting their son down like some sort of… well… game. What could they possibly be after?

“Maker, that’s…” _What? What is it? Cruel? Excessive? Disrespectful?_ Cullen frowned, trying to find the right word for the way he felt. “... just… desperate,” he finished quietly and placed his hand on Dorian’s back. He just rested it there, so Dorian could maybe at least feel like Cullen was with him, even if he couldn’t find the right words to comfort. 

\----

Desperate was a good word for it. Dorian chuckled a little to himself and took another drink from his cup. “Aquinea is a master of quiet desperation,” he went on, “she’ll make you think she’s the long-suffering victim, but make no mistake that she hasn’t engineered it all to her advantage.” Oh, he was bitter. Bitter enough that he needed this sweet drink with three kinds of liquor in it. “They live for it,” Dorian mused, “to look like the heroic, loving people who just want the best for their precious baby boy. I’m sure there’s people out there who think my parents actually like _each other_ let alone me... no. United for a common cause is about all they’ve got.”

\----

Cullen blinked. Dorian’s tone had gone from just a little hesitant… just a little sad… to bitter and hard in the time it took his heart to beat. The sudden change was breathtaking, and Cullen found himself trying to keep up. How did he defuse the anger… or should he even try to?

There were so many questions bumping around Cullen’s head, each one more prying than the last. _Surely, there’s something there - they’re your parents, right? What did they do? What cause unites them if not love? Why are you so angry?_   

But none of them felt right on his tongue, so he nodded, eyes sad, and waited as the hand resting on Dorian’s back moved to the man’s shoulder and squeezed. _I’m here. I’m listening. Be as angry as you need to be._

\----

The hand on his shoulder was nice. Touch was good. Touch grounded him. “So that’s what happened today,” Dorian explained, “it’s been a few months since I had to deal with it, and it... caught me off guard.” He shrugged then. There wasn’t much else to explain on that front. He’d heard about them and wanted to forget it. “Usually when it happens it ends up with me locking myself in the apartment for a while and getting completely blind, but I didn’t want to this time. It felt a bit like the walls were closing in so I had to get out.”

Dorian took a breath then. He drank. He wanted more to drink. “They’re not nice people,” he mused, “to pretty much everyone. I mean, they look nice. If you looked at a picture of them you’d think they were decent if not a bit stiff.” He shook his head, “but they’re not. They’re, um… you know, unless you grew up with it or saw it in real time it’s hard to explain. Sera gets it because she grew up with it too, and people like us seem to find each other because we recognize a lot of the same behavior, but we’ve only ever talked about some of the lighter stuff. On either end. I know she’s got problems with her family I don’t know about and she and Dagna tolerate me coming to them and saying ‘it was a bad one’ and they don’t ask a lot of questions.”

\----

Cullen was suddenly very grateful for the crass blonde and her more steady girlfriend's presence in Dorian's life. He'd felt like an outsider before because he _was_ an outsider. He had no context for this kind of hurt. The Rutherford clan had been many things, but vindictive or, hell, even uncaring had never been one of them. They'd tried, they'd tried so hard when Cullen had broken against himself. Mia held on until the end. Until he gave her no choice.

Cullen tried to put himself in Dorian's place... growing up with parents who didn't care, alone in the world for all intents and purposes. He tried to imagine his childhood without the warmth and light, the jokes and the singing and the Sunday dinners. It was cold. It was… awful. And that was only his imagination.

A lump rose in his throat, choking and hot. He didn't understand it. Dorian was bright, in every sense of the word. It made no sense.

“I'm glad you have them… Sera and Dagna. They're good people,” he said, voice husky for that lump, “... and I'm sorry, if it's worth anything. I'm sorry.”

\----

He smiled a little sadly for that and lifted the hand that wasn’t holding his cup to cover the one that had been on his shoulder. Sorry was nice to hear. Sometimes it wasn’t about ‘fixing’ the issues, not really, but more about someone saying ‘I’m sorry your situation sucks’ that made him feel a little better. He was working on fixing the issues, which was his choice, but sympathy was good. “Thanks,” Dorian answered with a nod, “it’s nice to hear every so often.”

Grey eyes looked down into his rapidly melting blue drink and he put it to his lips to take a few more glugs of it. The liquor was mostly watered down now, but it felt good: burning and ice cold at the same time. “Um… I mean, it’s a story you hear a lot, really. Parents wanted me to grow up and take over the family helm of some business and politics like my father does, marry the right girl from the right family so we could have the right kid, but they didn’t really count on the whole gay thing. Not, I guess, the gay thing and actually acknowledging the lifestyle,” he explained finally. That was about what he’d talked about before. It was a good setup, honestly. “It’s a bit different in the Imperium since technically arranged marriages aren’t enforced, but they’re still done. Just not with dowries and that kind of thing, but people in the same circles have kids and they basically say ‘my son will marry your daughter when they get older, isn’t that cute?’ and then somehow when you’re old enough to start dating you end up with that person and then Uni happens and by the end of it there’s a ring on the finger and everyone says ‘you were meant to be together, soulmates since you were in diapers!’ and no one thinks there’s anything wrong with that.”

He drank from the cup again.

“Until it doesn’t happen that way. I mean, I know for a fact that there’s plenty of gay men that are married with families in the Imperium. Everyone knows that. You don’t marry someone you didn’t _really_ fall in love with and expect things to be happy all the time. There’s brothels and everything’s very hush hush, but at the end of the day they go back to their wives and kids and no one talks about the fact that Daddy was playing...Daddy at the gay bar last friday night while Mommy spent the evening getting tanked on white wine with her friends at the country club. Or whatever,” Dorian went on. His voice was getting to that bitter tone again.

\----

Tevinter was different. Cullen knew that; everyone in Ferelden _knew_ that. He'd had visions of a more civilized society, _enlightened,_ based on their attitudes towards their southern cousins. What he was learning was that they were monsters. At least, this particular circle was. To invalidate… to negate part of what you were for some social _ideal_ was cruel. Inhuman. To do that to your own child… it was unspeakable.

And even if Dorian had been everything they'd wanted, even then, he'd have had no choice. Cullen's mind reeled at that, too. His life was shit, he was a wrecked husk of a human, but he'd made the choices that got him there, Maker help him. The good and the bad, he'd made them all. To have your life planned before you'd even lived it? That prospect was horrifying in its sadness.

No wonder the man had left. He got out. He was still trying to get out, it seemed.

All these things spun around Cullen's mind, turning sadness to dull anger. Anger at a society that made someone like Dorian feel like this. Anger at his parents for not protecting him. Anger at himself for not knowing how to take it away.

“That's…” he cleared his throat to gain composure, “that's… horrible. I never knew.” He took a breath then, and thought again how hard it must have been, how brave Dorian must have been to stand in the face of that and say _no._ Cullen leaned his head on Dorian's shoulder. “You're… you were right to have left that. Strong. Brave. _Good._ ”

\----

He scoffed a bit, “Well, I haven’t even gotten to the _good part_ yet,” Dorian pointed out before he down the rest of his drink. Now he wanted more. More, more, more. More would make it easier to talk about. One hand smoothed at his mustache as he gathered himself and he looked up at Cullen, “if you think I left just on principle, then um... well, I _did_ , but there’ a whole other host of things that go along with that. You’re raised to be the best child you can be for your sainted parents who gave you everything, blah blah blah, that kind of thing.”

Dorian waved a hand then, “I may need another of these. Or something,” he mused. Something strong was always kind of necessary, after all. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t _agree_ ,” he explained, “I mean, that’d be like you running away because your parents expected you to go to school and get a job. It’s just how it is. I _left_ because when it was getting a bit more obvious that I wasn’t _normal_ my parents decided to do something about it. Not for me, I should point out. For them. To save face for them. No, _Dorian_ won’t be like those poor saps that everyone knows only had the requisite one child out of obligation then gets his rocks off in an alley with a rent boy.”

The hand holding his cup gestured to Cullen’s, “and if you’re not going to have that, I will.”

\----

 _Maker, it gets worse?_ It was already bad enough, despite Dorian's light comparison to the expectations of going to college and getting a job. The things Cullen had taken for granted, the say he had in his life, it seemed hadn't crossed Dorian's mind when he was younger, if his words were to believe. _It's just how it is._ Have sadder words ever been spoken?

Cullen nodded and numbly handed his drink to Dorian. It was melted and half empty, but he could have it. If that's what he needed right now, who was Cullen to argue?

\----

He took the cup and tipped his head back for a drink. It was sweet like the one he’d just finished, but different. Still good. Not nearly strong enough, but they’d get there eventually. Something that could degrease an engine in a cup sounded about perfect right now. Dorian swallowed, let his mouth warm back up after the cold, and he sighed.

“Without getting dramatic about it, I guess, it’s easiest to say that they didn’t really care about how things would affect _me_ ,” he told Cullen, “more that they wanted to save face and not be the ones who had to listen to the jokes about it at parties. There’s _hours_ of stories I could tell you where I pushed things too much and they pushed back, but the bottom line is that it came down to the fact that Halward and Aquinea chose their reputation over their son’s happiness, and I left to get away from it. Now they get weepy every few months and try to guilt me to come home by saying I’m remembering things wrong or that they only wanted what was best and I perform a very rude gesture and drink myself into a stupor because it’s easier than fighting about it.”

\----

Antsy. It was the only word Cullen could think of to describe the sudden and impotent need he felt to do _something_. His skin was crawling with it, but his mind was blank. It was like all those times he knew he'd fucked up, but had no power, no will to change it. Well, that wasn't entirely true… he had the will to act, but there was no action to be taken, short of going back in time. The damage, as they say, had been done. Was still being done. Every time they reached out to Dorian, more damage occurred. What could Cullen do to make this stop, outside of letting him self destruct until he couldn't any more?

Yes, Old Cullen had been a man of action and few words. But now, action was worthless. He sighed, a bit ragged, and moved a hand to turn Dorian's face so he could meet those grey eyes, ringed as they were with booze and painful memory.

“I know you know this… but they're wrong,” he breathed, “There's… _nothing_ about you that needs to be fixed. There's not a damn thing wrong with you.” He paused then, swallowing before continuing, “.... I'm sorry if they made you feel like there was.” He rested his forehead against Dorian's. “They're wrong.” he repeated.

\----

Well, that was a whole other can of worms, as the saying went. The sentiment, however, was a good one. He leaned in for the touch and rested his forehead against Cullen’s, “I wish you could have been there to tell _them_ that and save all of us a few grand in... well, various kinds of therapy.” The last words stuck a bit, but Dorian swallowed them down and leaned up for a kiss, “but thank you. There’s... a lot there,” he went on, “but that’s the quick version. Now you know, and at least if it gets like this again you’ll know why. Mostly, anyway. Knowing is most of the battle, after all.”

\----

“Mmmm,” Cullen agreed, “It is.” He followed him back for another kiss, one that lingered a bit more so he could taste the peaches from his drink on Dorian's lips. “Thank you… for telling me.” _For trusting me._

\----

Dorian returned that kiss for a long moment before he leaned back and licked his lips. They were both sweet from the drinks now. “I haven’t really told anyone beyond much of that,” he admitted, “not without paying them a good portion of my paycheck.”

\----

Cullen shifted around, sitting cross-legged now, and rested his head on his hands. He studied Dorian's face for a long moment. That there was more below that was… worrisome, but he'd learned enough. He wouldn't press for more… wasn't sure he wanted to know more. At least, not unless Dorian needed him to know.

“Well, you know, my ear is always free,” Cullen smiled softly, “but my advice is shit. You get what you pay for.”

\----

He shook his head, “Advice isn’t what I need,” and lifted a hand to rub over his face, “it was mostly needing someone to talk to before I threw myself off a bridge or… I don’t know, let someone beat the shit out of me or beat the shit out of someone else.” Dorian shook his head and laughed something that had not a drop of humor to it, “lots of anger issues, me. Apparently.”

\----

 _Anger issues._ Those, at least, Cullen understood. Dorian had to bail him out of jail because of his inability to control strong emotions. His problem was different, he thought, than what Dorian was describing, more like random fits of blind rage or sudden bouts of intense sadness, but close enough.

He couldn't do much, but Dorian wasn't asking for much. Just someone to listen. He could do that and suppress this feeling that he should be doing something for him, something to make it _better_. So he swallowed the panic he felt at just… being at a loss. Not knowing. Sometimes, there just wasn't a damn thing to be done, he knew that very well by now. All that advice heaped on him in the days after Ella. All those eyes, pitying him, trying to tell him what to do. _Just try to be happy. It's been a year, Cullen. Isn't it time to take your life back?_ It was suffocating. He wouldn't do that to Dorian. Besides, he was in no place for it.

“Then I'm glad you got away before it got to the ‘beating the shit out of things’ stage. Or the bridge,” Cullen winced, hoping that was some sort of attempt at dark humor on Dorian's part, “Really glad.”

The idea of just going back to Dorian’s _right now_ circulated again, with more intensity this time. He just wanted… he just wanted to curl around Dorian as Dorian had done for him, sharing warmth and hopefully comfort. Instead, he settled for placing his hand on Dorian's knee and looking into those grey eyes. “... And I'm glad you thought of me to be here.” He paused again, considering, “It's ok to be angry, I think.” He nodded, “Yeah, it's ok.”

\----

There was something that bristled at that... was it permission? Dorian didn’t _need_ _permission_. His parents were lucky he’d never pressed charges, not that they would have stuck. He was ‘sick’ after all. “Well, you know,” he started and cleared his throat before he stacked the two now empty cups and picked up the purple paper umbrella that had been in Cullen’s, “like I said, I wanted you here.” What he needed was not to stew in it. Stewing in it was going to take him to bad places.

“Come here,” Dorian prompted and reached out to put the umbrella behind Cullen’s ear so it poked out amid all the curls, “lovely. You should play all your shows with cocktail umbrellas in your hair.”

\----

Cullen scoffed. “Not this week,” he grumbled, “besides, I doubt it's the type of establishment to stock tiny paper umbrellas.”

He stretched backward, arching his back to work out the stiffness there. The conversation, at least where Dorian's background was concerned, was apparently over. Cullen wasn't sure if anything he'd said really mattered. But he thought maybe that wasn't the point. Maker, but he was bad at this.

\----

Dorian leaned over and kissed Cullen’s shoulder, “Did you need to get up and move, maybe?” he asked, “we can get another drink and do a bit of walking.” He was in the odd situation of wanting more, though getting that drunk in public usually ended up with him being sick in an alley. That wasn’t what he wanted. Drinking at home, at least, if he needed to be sick he could be. “Or walk back to mine, since it’s reasonably close,” he offered, “I’ve got plenty to keep us going that won’t cost an arm and a leg. Though we’d be missing out on the umbrellas.”

\----

Music to his ears. Wasn't that what Cullen had wanted since Dagna’s little warning? It was. At least then, whatever happened, Dorian would be safe at home. He'd promised Dagna he could achieve that much.

“That sounds like a great plan. And I still have mine, so no shortage of umbrellas on my end,” he snorted with a little eyeroll at that, “Might wanna grab some food on our way out, though. Unless your cabinets are in a better state?”

\----

“That might not be a bad idea,” he agreed. Though he had every intention of getting in the door and drinking a pinot noir straight from the bottle, but food might not be so bad. “We can maybe grab something from the shops on the way, if you want,” Dorian offered, “if you’re feeling inspired. I wouldn’t mind getting some cheese and biscuits to nibble on and... we could cook? You can show off some of those skills I’ve heard about.”

\----

“What, scrounged up omelets weren't enough? I think I'm offended,” he grinned, “But, yeah, I could make us something. If you're willing to wait for it.”

He sighed then and gave Dorian an embarrassed little half smile, “But first, I have to get up. Mind giving an old man a hand?”

\----

That was actually rather endearing and Dorian felt some of that anger melt away a bit. Truth be told, Cullen really did make him feel better. It wouldn’t _fix_ the problem, but it did help. Somewhat. Dorian appreciated that. He got to his feet and held out his hands, “Come on, Grampa,” he teased, “let’s get you home so you can watch your stories. I’d hate for you to miss the evening quiz shows.”

\----

“Oh, ha ha, smartass,” but Cullen couldn't help but laugh. Despite the… painful shit they'd both shared, he found himself smiling and laughing more when Dorian was around. That alone was a good enough reason to _stick around._ “Wait! Is that the sun going down? I do believe it's past my bedtime, young man.”

Cullen grinned up at Dorian and held his hand out, waiting for the man to take it.

\----

He wrapped his hands around Cullen’s and smiled a little, “Pity on that bedtime thing,” Dorian mused, “I had so many plans for you later.”

\----

_Oh. Maybe not so much with the cooking then._

Aa Dorian helped pull Cullen to his feet, he let the momentum carry him into the man, so their chests were just touching, hands clasped between them. “Sorry to derail your plans, but this old man needs a bed _immediately_ ,” he murmured into his ear.

Maker, that was… inappropriate, wasn't it? Based on the conversation they'd just had, maybe. But Dorian had started it, and he seemed oddly fine after going through all that. Was this like it was with Cullen's confession - a situation where advantage could be taken? It felt miles apart from the way Cullen had melted down, though. Dorian had been bitter, angry even, as he spoke, but now he seemed… fine.

\----

Well, that was certainly a great way to forget. Dorian wouldn’t complain. If given the choice between feeling anxious and pissed off or lost in an evening with Cullen, he knew which he’d pick. That was a good point, actually. He could just... be relaxed. Cullen _wanted_ him. Cullen wanted him in a way that no one else really did. He wanted him around, close, and that was a heady experience. It felt a bit like being drunk, but that could have been the beers and the cocktails talking. Still.

He did want. He wanted to be lost in that place where he could pretend there weren’t any bad thoughts nosing at the back of his mind. Dorian wanted to be the most important thing to someone, even if it was only for a couple of hours, and they could do that. They could pretend, right?

“Well, who am I to keep a man up past his bedtime?” Dorian asked and looped his arm around Cullen so they could start walking, “did you want to cook or is this _immediate_ need going to overshadow the want for dinner?”

\----

Cullen let out a little snort of laughter as he slung his arm around Dorian's shoulders again and they began to walk. The sun was setting in earnest now, and the fact that he was walking arm in arm with someone that made his knees just a little weak on a regular basis didn't escape him. It was… well, romantic was and wasn't the right word. Either way, Cullen was happy to be where he was, with the person he was with.

They stopped at a food truck on the way out of the festival to pick up something to nibble on later. Too much, if all the bags were any indication, but that was fine. Maybe they'd get breakfast out of it, too.

The walk was short, and they spent it just chatting, laughing and, Maker help him, flirting. That was something he found himself doing more of around Dorian, too. It was just impossible not to, so he stopped trying… though that didn't stop the blush that rose when he did.

In all, it felt normal. It felt right. It was nice to forget the albatross around his neck, even if it was temporary. Dorian helped with that, too.

Before he knew it, they were at Dorian’s. He kicked his shoes off at the door and smiled, “Home sweet home?”

\----

On the way back home, Dorian’s mind completely shifted from that angry place to that other side where he just... he _wanted_. He wanted someone that wanted him in all the right ways. It was almost like another ‘fuck you’ to his family that told him he’d never find real love with another man. He’d never find someone good with someone that wasn’t who they picked for him. Oh, he would. He’d make Cullen come until the man could hardly stand, and then they’d do it again. He’d fuck him until he... until he cared. Yes. That’s what he was going to do.

“Always,” he answered. Though it did still feel a little close. He dropped the bags on the counter and turned so he could pull a bottle of wine from the fridge. Honestly, he didn’t even know what it was that he grabbed. White for now, red for later. Red always tasted better curled up in the afterglow anyway.

Grey eyes lifted from where Dorian was pouring two very generous glasses then and he moved to bring Cullen his, “Now... did you need to rest that aching back of yours?”

\----

“Nah, it's much better. Walking around actually helps,” he replied easily before taking a sip from his glass. Something clicked then as his brain caught up. _Oh. That was… probably not what he was getting at._ “But it is still a bit stiff. I might need a rest, just in case.”

One day, _one day_ , maybe he wouldn't be so damned awkward.

\----

Dorian smiled and leaned in for a kiss, something long and slow and heated, before he took a step closer into Cullen’s personal space. He liked the feeling of knowing that bulk was so close to his own. It made him feel warm. The hand not holding the wine glass lifted to tangle in those curls and Dorian tugged just a little, though not enough to hurt. He just wanted Cullen to _feel it_ like he did. He wanted the other man to feel that heat that had been slowly starting to pool low in him. He wanted Cullen to _want_ him. Immediately.

\----

Amber eyes opened wide and Cullen stiffened for just a moment. He'd expected… well, he'd expected they'd get to this _eventually_ , but apparently Dorian had other ideas. He relaxed into the kiss, pressing back and enjoying the fact that he could take his time. There was no rush - his whole weekend had abruptly been cleared, after all.

But then it turned a little… hungrier, needier when he felt fingers twisting in his hair, and oh, wasn't that tugging just perfect? His free arm wrapped around Dorian’s waist, pulling him in tighter, as Cullen nipped at the man's bottom lip, letting teeth graze along those soft lips before deepening the kiss. This was… well, he'd had a whole month to reflect on how this would go. Reality was far better than his imagination.

He pulled away, taking slow breaths to steady himself. “mmmm… didn't even know I needed that…” he murmured as he felt his own sort of hunger stirring, answering Dorian's.

\----

“I’ve been told I anticipate people's’ needs pretty well,” Dorian breathed before he leaned up for another kiss, “dinner can wait, can’t it?” The hand in Cullen’s hair tugged one more time before it smoothed a line down the back of Cullen’s neck to his spine and lower to cup his ass so he could get a firm handful. Yes, this was what he needed. He needed to check out, let his body do all the work for a while while he mind just enjoyed the touch of having someone close. Besides, he knew Cullen wanted it, too. Those kisses didn’t lie, they couldn’t, and it was exactly the kind of thing to make him forget first the phone call from before and that he’d let his mouth form the words of even just a cursory explanation of his…

Of his life.

He smiled, felt that wicked look take over his features, and Dorian moved away just enough to kill the still very full glass of wine he held. Best not to waste it, after all. With a flourish he set the glass down on the counter and tangled his fingers back in Cullen’s shirt to pull him closer, “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured before he leaned up for another kiss.

\----

That look in his eye and the way he grabbed at him… Cullen could feel that this was different than last time. Oh, Dorian had been direct last time, had been the one pursuing, but this wasn't the same. The fact that he'd downed a nearly full glass of wine in one go was proof enough of that.

Was this really ok? Cullen wanted it, to be sure. And he'd felt better about wanting it after the conversation about _sticking around_ and _getting attached._ That all felt very much like they were somehow… committing. But this… something felt off. Maybe he was overthinking it - he probably was, Maker help him, he spent enough time locked up in his own head. Maybe he should just let go and go to bed. It's what they both seemed to want, after all.

Still, he wanted to check.

“Is this… are you ok?”

\----

Dorian smirked, “I’m fine,” and started to nudge Cullen backward toward the bedroom, “absolutely fine.” The wine hit him from the back of the neck and upward, made his head feel just a little fuzzy, but it was a good kind of warmth. “I’ve _missed_ you,” he went on, “we’ve been busy, and the only _busy_  I really want to be right now is with you.”

\----

One of Cullen's eyebrows raised as he searched Dorian's face. He couldn't read that expression, but the words seemed right. They _had_ been busy. The timing had never worked out for them to spend more than a few hours here and there together in the past month. All the business with Dorian's parents and the conversation with Dagna had him a little on edge, is all. Dorian did say he missed Cullen, and Cullen had certainly missed Dorian… in quite a few ways.

Cullen placed his wine glass, still almost full, on the counter and let Dorian push him backwards for one or two steps before wrapping his arms around him and pressing his lips against Dorian’s. “I missed you, too. Dinner can wait.”

\----

Oh, Maker help him, _yes_. Dorian all but wrapped himself around Cullen as he kissed him as completely as possible. He could lose himself completely in this and just let Cullen make him feel good. He could make _Cullen_ feel good, too, which is almost what he wanted more. Dorian wanted to see the other man lose his mind and it be all because of _him_.

He pushed Cullen into his room and across the bed, which had been mostly made up before he’d left. Somewhat anyway. It was still comfy and soft, which was good, and Dorian loved how Cullen looked stretched across it. He all but growled as he moved in and peeled Cullen’s shirt over his head, lips finding scarred lips again as he straddled Cullen’s lap and kissed him deeply. It was nearly a perfect recreation of Cullen in his lap a month ago, but Dorian had no intention of stopping this. He wanted Cullen naked, wanting, and _begging_ for him as soon as possible.

\----

This pace… there was something frenetic about it, and Cullen felt himself getting swept away, caught up in Dorian's raw energy. His mind, the part of it that was always thinking, always analyzing, shut off. It was blessedly silent in his head; all he was processing was the feeling of Dorian's hands on him, Dorian's lips on him, Dorian's weight resting on his lap.

Cullen sat up and pulled Dorian's shirt off with a jerky movement and let his hands range over Dorian's chest and around to his back, nails raking, biting into the skin and muscle there.

Dorian's pace hadn't been delicate, and Cullen was matching it. He was swept away.

\----

Both hands went to push at Cullen’s shoulders so he was flat on his back and Dorian smirked, “You’re beautiful,” he all but growled before he started to kiss and bite his way down Cullen’s jaw and neck to his chest. When they came up for air later, much later, Dorian wanted to see the reminder of this. He wanted reminders of his own. Dorian wanted Cullen to leave marks on him, physical ones to match the way he’d wound himself around all the sensitive places inside him (which was a very new experience he wasn’t ready to deal with for the moment), so he could recall this for days.

He wanted to feel this for a while. It would quiet everything, which was arguably the most important thing.

\----

“Dorian…” Cullen breathed. He heard the whine in his voice, the plea for _more_ apparent in his tone. He could be embarrassed by it later, but now… now, he only felt the need. He'd never been pushed like this, never been _manhandled_ , and it only served to heighten his excitement.

That frenzy continued in a flurry of teeth and tongues and scratching nails without slowing. There was no room to breathe, no time to think. Cullen's body and mind reacted in kind, and he found himself grasping and pulling and, Maker help him, begging by the end. Dorian did things to him, things he'd never experienced before with anyone. It was all so good, but all so surreal in how different it was. His mind was fuzzy, and he was reduced to just that need.

Afterwards, he wrapped Dorian up in his arms. They were covered in sweat and scratches and who knows what else. Cullen was spent, utterly exhausted, and all he could do was breathe for a while as his mind slowly worked to establish control again.

“Maker, that was…” but he couldn't find the words to finish. Nothing seemed quite right.

\----

His mind was quiet. His mind was quiet and his skin hummed in a way that said he’d hurt later but he felt _amazing_. Dorian was calm. He was calm and there was the feeling of someone breathing against him. In the end, it had come down to hearing his name panted and moaned, which he loved, and Dorian felt… well, he was wanted. He’d made himself and someone else feel good. He wasn’t alone, and it had very obviously been a good time. It always was.

That breathless comment brought him out of his mind a little and Dorian chuckled. Ah yes. He heard that quite a bit. “Perfection,” he supplied for a long moment before he rolled over a bit to find -

_Cullen_

Grey eyes widened for just a moment and he swallowed hard. That’s right. Of course it was Cullen. They’d had an amazing time, after all. It was fine. Absolutely fine. If anything, that was _better_. The better the sex was the happier they’d be, after all. He wanted Cullen to stick around. To do that... well, he needed to make it worth it. “Look at you,” he managed after a moment and lifted a hand to cup a still lust-pink cheek so he could kiss those scarred lips a bit more warmly and less cruelly than he had not minutes before, “you’re gorgeous like this. Well-fucked suits you.”

\----

Cullen's brows furrowed. _Well-fucked._ He didn't care for that, and in his current, still-fuzzy state, he had a hard time hiding the frown that formed on his face, so he covered it with his arm and turned his head away. Dorian had said something like that before, on the first night they'd spent together. _We may not be fucking tonight…_ It had struck Cullen as cold, or, at the very least, impersonal then, and it struck a nerve now. The sex had been rough, it'd taken him to places he'd never gone before, but he'd never call sex with someone he cared about just… _fucking._

The fear he'd thought had disappeared earlier with the talk of getting attached crept back in. _Is that what this is? Just… fucking? With a side of friendship?_

He swallowed that thought and worked to arrange his face into something more pleasant as he looked back at Dorian. “You have a way with words.”

\----

“I do try,” Dorian chuckled before he took a breath and actually curled into that warmth. It wasn’t something he did, ever, but something about having Cullen’s bulk in so close actually helped to soothe still raw and rough edges that seemed to pull up the moment he got his bearings. One arm curled around Cullen at the other man’s waist and he snuggled, _actually snuggled,_ in against Cullen’s chest. The sound of the man’s heart kept the things he wanted gone away for longer, for whatever reason, and Dorian sighed happily as that feeling lethargy took him. He felt warm, surrounded in something good, and _happy_.

Warm lips pressed a few soft kisses over a batch of teeth marks that covered Cullen’s heart, “this is good,” he murmured after a long moment, “with you.” It was a strange admission even to his own ears, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying it. It just... came out. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Dorian had never said as much, not like _that_ out loud to anyone and actually meant it.

Then again, he did somehow feel lighter. There was that same soreness and feeling of absolvement of his issues that came from a few hours of something heated, but he felt... better. His head didn’t feel like something shaken that just needed to settle. Not really, anyway. It made him smile, and Dorian took a deep breath to breathe both that feeling and the feeling of Cullen in close to him. He lifted his chin then, studied Cullen’s expression, and leaned in for another kiss, “I like the way your eyes look right now, actually,” Dorian went on, “like you’re kind of tired. Maybe... happy? That suits you best.”

\----

 _Happy?_ The word clanged around in Cullen's overtired head, memories of friends and family wishing he could just be _happy_ surfacing. _Just be happy, Cullen. Why can’t you?_ He hadn't thought of himself as such in so long, he wasn't sure he even knew what the word meant any more. Even on the best days, he'd considered himself only _surviving._ On the worst days, he was just numb.

But here, with Dorian, was he happy? He squeezed the man in closer, finding comfort in the feeling of his body pressed against him. He was scared, yes, and he wanted to be somehow important to this man. It was the first time he'd wanted to be important, to be _there_ for someone in years. And since Dorian had come into his life, hadn't it lightened, despite the fear? Of course it had. He'd smiled more, joked more easily, shared more than he thought possible.

“Yes,” he agreed, tired face lighting with a genuine smile at the realization, “I _am_. Happy. Here with you,” he paused for a breath before he met Dorian's eyes, “... and I hope you are, too?” He wanted Dorian's answer to be that he was happy and that Cullen had somehow helped. Maybe it was too much to ask, but he couldn't help but hope.

\----

Again, his body moved before he could stop it. Dorian nodded and tucked himself in against Cullen’s shoulder so his lips could find that divot above his collarbone like he’d done the first time. Any other time, and with anyone else, he would have paused for the appropriate amount of time and done some kind of flippant chuckle. Of course he wanted his lovers to feel important, it was why they kept everything up, but the difference now was that Cullen actually _was important_ and there was something in Dorian’s body that was trying to make that very clear to all parties.

He curled his arm around Cullen’s middle a bit tighter and he mouthed kisses at that soft, sensitive skin. “Very happy,” he murmured, content to just let the moment take him. What harm could living in the moment really do, after all? “Stay tonight?” Dorian asked, “I know you were going to, but... I want you to know I want you to stay.” Again he mouthed kisses at Cullen’s neck, “it feels lighter when you’re here.”

\----

The doubt Cullen felt earlier at Dorian's choice of words receded with those words as he felt that happiness settle in and find purchase amidst the demons that had made his heart their home. It was a small thing yet, but there, _present_ _and growing._ Or maybe it had always been there, reduced to nothing during the dark days, and Cullen just hadn't been _aware_ of its growth until Dorian asked. Dorian made him… happy. But it was more than that, wasn't it? It was more than the laughter and the flirting, more than the sex, good as it was. There was another emotion there, long thought dead, that was making itself known, growing stronger just as the happiness in his heart grew.

_Is this… is it… ?_

But no. No, it was too early for _that._ Too early by far. Better not to acknowledge that one, not until the doubt was gone, not until he was sure.

Cullen let out a contented sigh, eyes half closed and a soft little smile on his face. “Lighter. That's a good way to put it. I like that,” Cullen answered, voice low and soft, “I'd like to stay, too.” He popped one eye open and looked down at Dorian with a lopsided grin, “I may have even brought clothes with me this time.”

\----

“Mm, why bother?” Dorian asked as he nipped gently at that soft skin. He wasn’t tired, but something about having Cullen wrapped around him like that made him want to close his eyes. He could completely forget about everything. Right there, where he was, he could listen to the sound of Cullen’s pulse and the way he breathed and focus on that. Dorian was sore, bruised and scratched in his favorite ways, but it was a very good kind of sore. It lulled him. It let him slip away into something drifty and far away that he’d wanted that even the alcohol couldn’t give him.

The hand resting against Cullen’s back brushed gently along his spine, and Dorian sighed softly in against that warm skin. Somehow he couldn’t stop touching Cullen even now.

\----

Cullen breathed a low chuckle. “Because, presumably, I'll have to leave at some point.” Maker knew he didn't want to think about it, not _now_ of all times, but it was true. Whatever warmth and comfort he found here, it was bound to end. Dorian had a life, after all, and he had his own debts to pay. He pressed a kiss to Dorian's forehead and squeezed a bit tighter for that thought. Best to hold on while he could.

\----

“Not for a while,” he pointed out, and nudged Cullen over so the man was on his back and Dorian was curled up against his side with one arm thrown across his torso and one leg stretched across both of Cullen’s, “and they’ll just be another step later.” Dorian lifted his head then and grinned, though it was less wicked than before, “provided I haven’t tired the old man out too much.”

\----

You'd be surprised,” Cullen snorted. He grabbed the arm Dorian had just slung across him and pulled the man easily on top of him. “This old man is harder to tire out than he looks.” He'd feel that little maneuver in the morning… shit, he'd feel a lot more than that in the morning, but if he surprised Dorian even a bit, he thought it'd be worth it.

\----

Well. It wasn’t quite the spooning-then-awkward-chat kind of cooldown Dorian had figured on, but he’d certainly take it. He rather liked the sleepy-sexy-spent look Cullen wore anyway. Maker help him, but he could have enjoyed that little expression all day. He chuckled and leaned forward, one hand lifting to ruffle those curls away from Cullen’s face before he leaned down and kissed him, “I love a man with stamina,” he murmured before he grinned and rocked his hips. Certainly this would do to drive all the thoughts from his head for a while longer yet, which was never a bad thing. “So tell me, then,” Dorian prompted, “since you’re not tired at all, what you want. Unless it’s just the view, which… well, I can’t blame you.”

\----

Cullen laughed and let his head fall back against the mattress, circling his arms around Dorian’s waist. “I'm afraid you called my bluff. The mind may be willing, but I doubt the body is able. It would just be disappointing all around, I'm afraid.” He met Dorian's eyes then, “Especially after… that. But the view is nice, I'll say.”

He did feel a little stirring when Dorian rocked his hips, and the feeling of the man's weight on him, that closeness, had turned what Cullen meant to be a playful tease into something nicer, but he doubted anything would come of it. Not for another half hour at least. Surely.

\----

“Probably for the best,” Dorian chuckled before he shifted a little and folded his arms across Cullen’s chest so he could rest his chin on them, “friction burn isn’t fun for anyone.” He took a breath then and leaned up for a kiss, “don’t tell anyone, but this isn’t the worst thing. It could ruin my stoic reputation if anyone found out that Dorian Pavus enjoys cuddling with... “

He faltered then. With _who_ , exactly? Well, with Cullen obviously, but what were they? Saying a friend would sound horribly insensitive considering their conversation both at the festival and just a moment ago. Boyfriend… no. No, no. No way. He hated the word. Absolutely hated it. Lover? _Ugh._ Close enough.

Again he leaned up for a kiss and rested his forehead against Cullen’s, “that I enjoy cuddling with anyone, more or less. I’m meant to be superficial and aloof, you know. Not... smitten.” Dorian was smiling, though. Strangely, he didn’t mind so much. That said, his mind was blissfully empty of anything other than Cullen for the moment. “And here you come along with your guitar and soulful eyes and I’m done for.

\----

 _Smitten. Taken._ Both words Dorian had used this evening. Cullen packed them away to think on later, but for now, his chest expanded to hear it. He tilted his chin up for another kiss as his hands moved slowly up and down Dorian's back. Just because he couldn't _perform_ right now didn't mean he didn't like the feeling of the man. He was softness over firm muscle, and Cullen's fingertips delighted in his warmth.

“So glad my guitar did it for you, then,” he laughed. “... but who are these people who find you so aloof and superficial? Did they meet the same man I have?”

And he meant it - that wasn't just flirty banter. Dorian was on the vain side, yes. The man was stunning, and he knew it, but he'd never struck Cullen as aloof or even superficial. He'd somehow always been… kind. Patient even, tonight being the exception of course. The fact was, Dorian had reached out to, well, someone like Cullen when no one else had. And he kept reaching out, despite all the shit Cullen carried around with him. No, Cullen couldn't see him in that light.

\----

Those hands on him were nice. Cullen’s hands were like giant paws and Dorian rather liked the feeling of them touching him. Already he knew there were going to be some marks in the shape of Cullen’s fingers at his hips, which he loved, but this was nice too. “I cultivate a certain… image,” he explained, “it’s easier to make people think you don’t care and that nothing touches you. Makes working with people who think they’re better than you a lot easier to handle.”

It also helped in a bar situation to not look desperate. Not that Dorian was ever _desperate_ , but that wasn’t the point. Most men he knew liked men who didn’t give off the vibe for _more._

Dorian chuckled a little then, “that and Sera would never let me live it down.”

\----

That made Cullen's heart feel a little heavy for Dorian, that he felt he had to make people think he didn't care, but he didn't miss the parallel with what he himself did every day. Pushing people away, or rather, not even letting them try to get close, had been a way of life for Cullen up until very recently, after all.

“I think… I know what you mean. A little,” he said, tone serious, before chuckling and spinning them back over onto their sides, “Your secret is safe with me, though I daresay Sera’s a liability.”

\----

“She can never know then,” he pointed out, “what she has on me already is too much.” Dorian was smiling. _Actually_ smiling. That wasn’t something he would have expected that morning. Clearly, the going home and fucking until neither of them could move had been the best choice. “Now,” Dorian went on, “I say we indulge in some of the treats we got on the way back so we can refuel a little, then… perhaps have a replay from earlier? I mean, so long as I haven’t managed to break one of your hips or something. That would be a shame.”

\----

“You know, you can only push a guy so far before he _pushes back_ ,” Cullen replied as he leaned in for a kiss that lingered just a bit longer than the others. “Food, then,” he agreed, “And then I can show you how functional my hips remain.”

He smirked a bit, pleased with himself for that line and rolled into a seated position with minimal grumbling from his back. _I'm still gonna need some elfroot in the morning, though._

He had a feeling he was going to feel tonight for a while.

\----

Dorian slid out of bed then and pulled his underwear back on. That was about as re-dressed as he was going to bother with. Food wouldn’t take that long, after all. He turned, pressed a kiss to Cullen’s shoulder, and smiled, “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured again, then straightened to let Cullen get up at his own pace.

The food needed a bit of a warm through, which was easy enough, and Dorian put everything on some trays to tuck in the oven for a while before he picked up their glasses to freshen them. He wasn’t nearly so tipsy now, obviously, but actually didn’t _quite_ feel like having the whole bottle in a few goes. So saying, he poured their glasses again and merely nursed his beside his elbow while he waited for the food.

This was... actually very good. Normal. More normal than he ever expected something like this to be. Dorian felt calm, not chased or like he was actively running from anything, and more importantly he was actually _happy_. That kind of feeling didn’t stick with him on days like this usually, and for the first time in a while he was glad he hadn’t been stubborn enough to get so blind drunk that this would have been a terrible situation.

Maker, did that mean he was actually starting to grow up? Move past it? How... novel, actually.

\----

Cullen smiled for that little kiss. All the little kisses, actually; they all made him smile… made him happy. Again, he marvelled at Dorian's so-called reputation for being aloof. The man had never been stingy with his touches or his time. _Affectionate_ , really, and in just the way Cullen needed.

As soon as Dorian was out the door, though, he grimaced and worked his fist into the small of his back. It wouldn’t to let on how close to the mark Dorian had been all night about his damn back. _Elfroot. Definitely. And maybe ice tomorrow. Worth it, though._

He reached over for his bag to dig out his phone and sighed. Samson was being an ass, but what else was new? Cullen rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore him for now, and pulled up Dagna’s name.

_[Send Message Dagna (10:02PM)]: Hey, it's Cullen. Just letting you know Dorian's home safe. Everything seems ok._

With that done, he stood and stretched out a bit and pulled his underwear on. He was debating on whether he wanted to put some pants on when he heard a chiming from across the room.

_Ah, Dorian's phone. Must be in his pants._

Cullen walked over and moved to fish the phone out of the pocket it was in, meaning to bring it out to Dorian. For a moment, he felt like maybe that was too invasive. He paused, considering whether it was poor form to grab it.

_Invasive? Bringing someone their phone after you just did… that?_

Cullen laughed softly at that and grabbed the phone. He didn't mean to look, he really didn't, but the screen was still lit from the notification amd he just caught the message preview before the screen blanked.

_[Frederic - Serault’s (10:04PM)]: are you free tonight?_

_Are you free tonight?_

Cullen froze for a heartbeat. He shouldn't have looked. He shouldn't have gone digging for Dorian's phone, even if he'd had good intentions. His stomach fell as he clenched the phone in his fist. All the little comments from earlier in the night sprang from their boxes. _No more than one or two nights. Only a handful with any seriousness. Dorian doesn't really… date._

But that… that message could mean so many things. It could be one of his clients. It could be a friend. It could be a whole host of things that weren't what Cullen's mind immediately focused on. They'd had a good time at the festival. Dorian had opened up to him. They'd had a _really_ good time here. There were those little kisses and touches that made Cullen weak. Those meant _something_ right?

He made his way out to the kitchen slowly, setting Dorian's phone on the counter beside him. “It was going off. Sorry, I thought you'd want it,” he said, voice just a little subdued and eyes askance. He picked up what he assumed was his glass of wine and finished half of it off in one go. He didn't want to think about it. Not now.

\----

One of Dorian’s eyebrows cocked before he picked up the phone. It was a bit late for anyone to be calling now barring a crisis. Mostly anyway. He smiled a little at Cullen then, “Thanks,” and quickly unlocked the screen to look.

Ah. Yes, that would be about right.

_[Send Message: Frederic - Serault’s (10:06PM)]: cant. sorry._

Quick and succinct. Dorian’s fingers moved with ease and he put his phone off to the side like it was nothing. Because it was nothing. The usual type of thing he’d get this time of night on any normal weekend. “Food should be warmed up in a minute,” Dorian offered and leaned across the bench with his hands braced over the edge for a kiss, “how are you feeling? You look a bit stiff... in the sore kind of way. Not in the-”

His phone buzzed again and Dorian set his jaw. Annoying.

“Not in the ‘ready for round two’ kind of way.”

\----

Cullen knew he was angling for a kiss, knew it as sure as he knew anything, anyway. Two minutes ago? He'd have obliged, happily and without thinking. Two minutes ago, he'd have been drawn into that banter again, probably letting his hands roam a bit while he did.

But he couldn't, not quite yet. Instead, Cullen took another drink from his wine as he listened to Dorian speaking. The man hadn't even flinched when he saw the message. Had tapped off a reply without so much as a twitch. That had to be… good, right? Surely he'd react if it was something like Cullen suspected. Right?

And then the phone buzzed again, and Dorian _did_ react.

“You can answer that if you want. I don't mind,” his tone was flat.

\----

Grey eyes glanced quickly toward the phone and then back before Dorian waved a hand, “It’s not important,” he answered, “I would imagine a work crisis this time of night wouldn’t be asking me if I was free. There’s usually a lot more capital letters involved if that’s the case.” He searched Cullen’s face then. Something seemed off. Concern maybe? Dorian didn’t know. “Probably a bunch of archivists going out to get off their face and want another warm body,” he went on and shook his head, “they’ll forget about me before too long.”

\----

A tense few seconds passed. Amber eyes narrowed as Cullen considered Dorian's words. They made sense. They worked out well enough. They should have made him feel better.

_It's a lie._

_It isn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't lie. He wouldn't._

_Please, don't be a lie._

He swallowed as he made the decision to trust Dorian. He was blowing this out of proportion in his own head, he knew it. It was his way, after all, to be suspect of everything and everyone around him. It had worked well to protect him in the past, but he couldn't do that now, not with Dorian. Not if he wanted this thing they had to be real. He had to trust him, and that was a terrifying prospect.

“If I admit my back hurts, will you take pity and offer up an elfroot or two?”

\----

That long stretch of silence was a worry, but Dorian kept his gaze on Cullen’s face. A low well of something nervous boiled into being in the pit of his stomach, which was a very new sensation, and only got worse the longer that time stretched out. He couldn’t quite read what had made Cullen’s demeanor change, other than the message, which... that was an interesting thought. Had Cullen read it? Did he think Dorian was about to run off to join a bunch of research assistants in the bar so he could go home with one of his clients’ buyers?

The short answer was that if Cullen wasn’t there, if this had been a weekend not unlike the past few, Dorian would have been amenable. Today, however, wasn’t anything at all like the usual day. Having Cullen there wasn’t anything like his usual night either.

“Yeah, of course,” he answered with a nod and pushed off the bench before he moved to grab a box of elfroot tablets from the cabinet. Of course he could have just handed them over, but he rounded the side of the bench so he could set the box down by Cullen’s hand and rest his other hand on Cullen’s arm, “hey, I’m not, um... I’m not going anywhere, alright? This is where I want to be.” Dorian searched his face again then, “There’s nothing they could offer that would be better than the rest of the night with you.”

\----

Shaky nerves calmed at that. He was suddenly embarrassed he'd let Dorian see him working through the shit in his own head. It was obvious Dorian could see the gears working in his head - he'd never been very good at masking emotion, even at his best.

He looked into those grey eyes then and saw the worry there. That was genuine, and his heart did a little aching twist for it. He was sorry he'd put that expression on Dorian's face.

“I didn't think you were going anywhere. I just wasn't sure if it was important or not…” but he was cut off by the sound of the microwave beeping. He jumped, eyes wide, and laughed at himself. “... and since it wasn't, it sounds like dinner is served.” He was smiling again. He'd been being stupid, is all. Reading far too much into what he shouldn't have even seen in the first place. The whole thing had been a product of his own inability to let anything go. It was his fault for letting himself get worked up over nothing at all.

\----

“I’ll make up some plates,” Dorian told him, and tapped the elfroot, “take a few of those, hm?” He leaned up, just a bit on his toes, and kissed Cullen’s lips. Those nerves were starting to settle, if only a little. Cullen was smiling again and for the first time in a while Dorian felt like he’d dodged a bullet. That had the potential to be very _very_ bad.

He turned and grabbed the few things out of the oven as well as the microwave and set to putting a bit of everything on each. It was easy work, simple, but Dorian’s mind wandered just a little. He hadn’t expressly said anything about that message. It could have literally been anyone: Sera, Josephine, or any number of guys he worked with or knew casually. What would Cullen’s reaction have been if it had been Sera or Josephine as opposed to another man?

 _Maker help me_. Was Cullen _jealous_? No. Surely not. Worried? _Suspicious_?

That word left an ugly taste on his tongue and he picked up his wine to wash it out. He couldn’t be, though. It was stupid for anyone to believe that Dorian didn’t have any friends outside of the two they’d seen today. Okay, well perhaps not _friends,_ but Dorian knew a lot of people socially. Acquaintances. They texted him often enough.

Surely, Cullen wouldn’t be suspicious just because it had been a man texting him. Never mind they weren’t _anything_. Lovers, as he’d agreed with himself from before, and close. Happy. But that had only been for the last less than twenty-four hours. Everything from before that was fair game and he was sticking to that. Should he find out Cullen had been seeing someone else on the side he would be fine with it, after all. They were there _now_ and happy to make this sticking around thing a reality.

That was the important thing. Anything else would make him crazy.

“Couch again, maybe?” Dorian offered, and smiled a bit. This was fine. Trying to sort out something like that would only serve to make his head spin. Cullen was happy to be there and so was he. That was the end of it. They’d eat and spend the rest of the night in bed, which was a wonderful thing. They’d talked and been candid about wanting to move this... forward. Suspicion had no reason to grab hold. Done. “Save your old man back from having to stand for too long?” he went on, “and then maybe I can rub it for you later, if it would help?”

\----

The joking was back, and Cullen felt like maybe the cloud he'd cast over them due to his inability to just be a normal human being for once was clearing. He was ashamed of himself now that he was on the other side of it. If he weren't so damn broken, if he didn't hold on to comments and obsess over them until they became monsters in his own mind, none of this would have happened. As it was, he feared he'd ruined what had been one of the best days he'd had in a good long while. 

But then Dorian kissed him and teased him about his back again, and he felt like maybe, _maybe_ he hadn't completely messed everything up.

“Couch, please. Old man back thanks you,” he replied with a half-smile. He quickly took two of the elfroot tabs, washing them down with a sip of wine. “I'm going to hold you to that back rub,” he said as he followed Dorian to the couch, “I've got quite a few knots I'm sure you could work out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen.)


	13. +1 [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian asks a question that surprises even him.

 

The heat hit Cullen like a wall when he emerged from the air conditioned post office. He shielded his eyes, squinting as he waited for them to adjust to the bright sunlight flooding the street.

Sweet Andraste, but it was hot. Summer had hit, early and hard, and Cullen found it nigh insufferable. Dorian had been pleased as punch when the weather turned, of course. The term “hothouse orchid” came to mind, but Cullen couldn't begrudge him his obvious glee… not when he'd been so miserable throughout the winter.

Still, in spite of the oppressive heat, Cullen felt… good. He'd just mailed off the last payment to the guy whose nose he'd broken several months back, and he knew he was going to see Dorian later that night. It was a good day, a very good day, and his heart was light.

_Dorian._

That street festival, the night when things really felt like they were starting, had been a while ago, when winter was just turning to spring. They'd both gotten some of their shit out on the table, in plain light, and had decided to move forward. Cullen had promised himself to _try_ , to not get lost in his own head and let doubt and suspicion eat him alive. That night, he'd decided to _trust_ Dorian. And it had been a battle. On one level, he _knew_ it was that fear and anxiety the doctors all agreed he had after Ella’s death fucking with his thoughts. But on another level, he couldn't help it. So, where Dorian was concerned, he'd fought… and surprised himself by winning most of the time.

It had been worth it. Over the past months, he felt that happiness growing stronger in his heart. He felt more like himself and less like the broken man Dorian had found that day at the train station. Not much had changed outwardly - he still played for tips most days and played at the bar regularly, he still had to wrangle Samson and Maddox to get their part of the rent and bills, he still had bad days where he had to _work_ to pull himself out of bed to do it all again. But those days came less frequently and suddenly the struggle to keep going had meaning.

As Cullen made his way to the station to catch the train back to his apartment, he thought about that meaning. Dorian had been the catalyst, helping him see that he was redeemable. Dorian had woken the part of him that really wanted to try.

And beyond all the heavy stuff, it just felt good to be with Dorian. They'd spent time together more regularly, going on _dates_ , talking, holding hands… all the things that made Cullen’s heart flutter and his knees go weak like he was a teenage boy again, just starting out. So they hadn't labelled anything… that was ok. That was fine. They were happy when they were together, and for now, that was enough.

When he got to a seat on the train, he pulled out his phone and tapped out a message to Dorian.

_[Send Message: Dorian (12:31PM)]: Still on for tonight? I feel the need for a minor celebration._

\----

Summer spoke to Dorian on a near spiritual level. He lived for the heat and the sun and the way everything just felt a little bit _better_ when it was warm enough to sit back and enjoy the day. There was no need for layers upon layers that made him feel bulky, and he all but crawled out of the funk that seemed to claim him for months at a time. He was a creature of warm nights, cold drinks, heated skin, and the breath of a cool breeze through the window after a long evening of lovemaking. Just the thought of it made his muscles relax.

The buzzing of his phone jarred him from his thoughts, sadly enough, and Dorian lazily stretched out his arm to grab it from the edge of the table. Of course it was Cullen. They tended to chat through his lunches, now, so long as he wasn’t locked in a meeting. It was a good way to break up the day. More than that, it gave Dorian reason to let his mind wander to Cullen without actively pulling him away from something else. More and more lately he found himself thinking of the man when he probably should have been doing something else. On a few occasions, he’d had a client or, Maker help him, Josephine or Leliana shake him back to reality when he had a moment and something reminded him of the man.

It was a situation he’d actively avoided for almost a decade. That level of infatuation, of affection, was dangerous. Or, at least, he’d thought it was. Even now he had to stop himself from thinking that way. There was nothing _wrong_ with wanting to enjoy this. He’d wanted Cullen to stick around, after all. He’d practically asked him to. To do that, admit he care for the man, then keep him at arm’s length would be cruel. It was a hard lesson to unlearn, one he slipped up on sometimes, but he was trying. Doing his best.

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:35PM)]: ooh celebrating. i like it. thats a yes btw. at mine or r we going out?_

He was smiling. Sera would have, and had, called it ‘dopey,’ but Dorian preferred ‘genuine.’ Maker knew the last time someone else had made him smile for any reason other than amusement. Maker also knew the last time Dorian had acquiesced to ‘dates’ as opposed to serendipitous meetups. They made plans, went out on purpose, and for the most part the purpose _wasn’t_ sex. It was fun. It was to talk. It was to do something or go somewhere either one of them had been and wanted to show the other, or somewhere neither of them had been before so they could share the experience. Dorian had eaten _diner fare_ and _liked_ it. Now, he rather enjoyed it as a breakfast spot on the mornings after one of Cullen’s shows.

Celebrating would probably require something special, though for a moment Dorian ticked over what it could be they were celebrating in his mind. Birthday? Er...no, hopefully not. Perhaps a job offer? New club to play at? That would have been good. Dorian would have to maybe get a basket or something as a gift for that. Anything else? He had no idea. Hopefully it wasn’t something he’d forgotten as he was reasonably sure Cullen wasn’t the bottle of wine/chocolates/flowers as a means of forgiveness type.

“That Cully Wully?” Sera asked, “tell him I say hi.”

Dorian chuckled.

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:37PM)]: Sera says ‘hi cully wully.’_

“Done,” Dorian replied and smiled over his phone, “apparently we’re celebrating tonight.”

“Anniversary already?” Sera asked, then paused, “no. You’d never do anything that… what’s the word? _Plebeian_?”

“That’s rather hurtful,” he answered, and lifted his gaze back to Sera’s face, “but no, not anniversary. I’m allergic.”

“If he wanted to you would.”

“Is that so?”

Sera grinned, “Oh come on. He’d bat them long eyelashes and make the puppy face and you’d melt!” she teased, “not even you could say no to that face.”

“And you would know that _how_ exactly?” Dorian drawled before he picked up a glass of iced tea and sipped it.

“Because you’re all _besotted_!”

“Someone’s learned some new words to tease me with.”

\----

Cullen couldn't help the pleased little grin that covered his face… or the way his nose scrunched when that second message came through. He'd deny it to anyone who asked, but even Sera’s ridiculous names, and the fact that he sort of had one, made him happy.

_[Send Message: Dorian (12:39PM)]: I honestly hadn't gotten farther than “it would be really great to see Dorian tonight”_

Because it would be. It always was.

_[Send Message: Dorian (12:40PM)]: A man's gotta eat, though. Maybe dinner somewhere and then we'll see?_

_[Send Message: Dorian (12:42PM)]: Also, tell Sera hello. Maker, I think I preferred “guitar man” though._

\----

“Cullen says hello, and… what’s that? Oh yes, ‘Dorian’s hardly some besotted fool.’ See? Even he knows,” Dorian teased and gave Sera a look as he flicked open the conversation to reply:

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:43PM)]: Im glad u recognize how amazing my presence is ;)_

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:44PM)]: Food though. how big a celebration r we talking? paying off student loans celebration or didnt get shit on by a bird in the park today celebration? theres a difference_

He was very satisfied with that level of humor versus excitement. Truth be told, Dorian was always excited when one of them suggested a dinner during the week. Busy schedules and waiting on paychecks sometimes kept it from happening as often as they liked (other than a few instances of Cullen coming to cook, which had been fantastic in their own right), but when they did happen it was always a good time. Going out as opposed to takeaway, even, was a bit of a jump. He was... happy. Excited.

Sera stuck her tongue out at him, “He didn’t say that,” she argued, “and you are. I’ve never seen you hang onto one this long and still _talk_ to them.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“I’m sorry, ‘come over and let’s joust on top of my pretty silk sheets’ doesn’t count as conversation,” Sera argued and Dorian snorted just a bit into his drink. It was funny, after all.

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:46PM)]: Random question but how do u feel about jousting?_

\----

As Cullen made his way off the train, he stared at his phone in bemused confusion. Jousting. That was a new one. What was Dorian getting at? Cullen had an idea, and it was along the same lines as his little “and then we'll see,” but with Dorian, well, Cullen had to admit that sometimes, he was slow on the uptake. The man had a way with words, after all. He was, in addition to being ridiculously handsome, wickedly clever and endlessly witty. It was one of Cullen's favorite things about him, actually.

Cullen made his way through the station and past the turnstile before pausing in the bright sun to respond.

_[Send Message: Dorian (12:53PM)]: I suppose that depends on the context. What did you have in mind?_

\----

He was amusing himself. It happened. Cullen was always good with a bit of banter between them. Now that he seemed more comfortable, more confident, he was a joy to talk to. There was little of that awkward undercurrent, for the most part, which was something Dorian liked. Their silences didn’t stretch into anything awkward so much anymore, and instead into something altogether companionable. That, perhaps more than anything, was a tell that he and Cullen were more of a match than he’d been with anyone else.

Possibly ever, actually, and that was a feeling he’d never expected to experience.

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:56PM)]: No reason. just wondering. we can talk at the train about plans for tonight then? u can ride back to mine with me if u want?_

\----

Cullen grinned as he made his way to the apartment. That would be just fine. It always pleased him in a small, silly way when they did that, when he left that station with Dorian instead of watching him walk away.

 _It's the little things in life, right?_ He thought as he responded.

_[Send Message: Dorian (12:59PM)]: Alright. I'll just suffer with curiosity until then. That's fine._

He considered adding one of those ridiculous emojis, but he just couldn't get on board. It never ceased to amaze him how someone as sharp as Dorian replaced the word “you” with a single letter with no shame. It was just another thing that made him smile these days. He liked it.

At the apartment, he grabbed a change of clothes and his guitar. Cullen hesitated then, and decided he'd better tell Samson he may not be home tonight. It was a work night, so he may leave Dorian at a reasonable hour - the man needed his sleep, after all - but he _might_ not. There apparently may be jousting in his future.

He knocked softly on Samson's door and heard a gruff “what?” in reply.

Cullen cracked the door. “Just letting you know I might not be back tonight.”

Samson rolled over in bed to look at him. “Seeing your man, then?” There was a teasing note in his voice, but he wasn't being unkind. Samson could be an ass, but he wasn't cruel, despite the problems Cullen had getting his part of the bills out of him.

Cullen shuffled his feet and rolled his eyes a bit for show. “ _If_ you must know. Yes.”

“Thought you looked a little too fucking smiley. Get outta here with that,” again the tease, but there was a ghost of a grin.

“I'm trying, but you keep talking,” Cullen paused a bit and added, “Hey. Thanks for getting your part in the past few months. It, ah, really helped me out…”

“You're going soft, Rutherford. Go on. And close the fucking door when you leave.”

Cullen chuckled. “Fine. See you when I see you.”

“Hey…”

Cullen paused again and looked over at Samson, eyebrows raised.

“Just be careful, ok? You know what you're about, but maybe he doesn't.”

Cullen twitched at that. Something in him bristled, even though he knew Samson was just looking out for him in his way.

“Yes, dad,” he replied before closing the door and locking up.

\----

Later that afternoon, Dorian paused at the coffee stand above the train platform to get the usual two cups. Since it was warm, though, he elected to get one each of something iced chocolate and something hazelnut. Cullen could pick which he liked, and Dorian would be happy with the other. Small things, of course.

As he made his way down the stairs, he smiled to himself for the sound of the guitar. It was such a nice way to be greeted, after all. By now, Dorian recognized a lot of the songs, and often hummed along when he stood just off to Cullen’s side as to not crowd him too much. The man was technically working, after all, but still. Sometimes he wondered if Cullen played the ones Dorian liked most, or if it was just happenstance. That said, Cullen was observant enough (and sweet enough) to know and to do that just because he could. It was… something Dorian had never really known before.

Dorian breezed past the others that were waiting and moved in to kiss Cullen’s cheek when he was close enough, “I come bearing iced refreshment,” he teased, “pick whichever one looks like you.”

\----

How long had it been? At least a month or two now that he was greeted like that, and it still made him go just a little, shit, _wibbly_ was the only word for it, damn Sera. Cullen grinned and nodded as he finished strumming the last lines of the song he'd been playing. He hadn't played expressly _for_ Dorian since that... episode back when he'd been arrested. He was suitably embarrassed for it whenever he thought about it, but he still liked to work songs in that Cullen noticed perked the man up. And if he made eye contact more readily while he played them when Dorian came out to the bar, well who would blame him? That Dorian seemed to truly enjoy that part of him also made Cullen _wibbly._

“Hmmmmm,” Cullen considered the hands holding the two _incredibly similar_ cups. _Pick the one that looks like me, indeed._ “I'll go for that one then, thanks,” he responded, waving at the cup in Dorian’s right hand. He liked the rings on Dorian's right hand just a hair more than the ones on his left, it had nothing to do with the contents of the cup it held. He finished packing up his gear, shouldered his bag and guitar case and took the offered cup. He took an exploratory sip. One could never be too careful when Dorian was ordering drinks, after all. It was chocolate, and it hit the spot.

“Oh, nice, chocolate,” he smiled, “Are we off, then?”

\----

Dorian nodded, “Unless you had any other plans,” and took a sip from the other cup. Secretly, he’d been hoping for that one. It made him rather ridiculously happy that he wouldn’t have to perhaps drop hints and ask for a “sip” of Cullen’s had he picked the other. It was cold and just sweet enough, and Dorian smiled over at the other man as he linked his free hand with Cullen’s.

“So do I get to know what we’re celebrating?” he asked, “should I be booking a nice restaurant or are we thinking burgers and beer?” Dorian was grinning. He was always down to celebrate, especially if it was something that made Cullen happy. When had _that_ happened, he had to wonder, in all of this?

\----

“Oh,” Cullen snorted, “It's really nothing huge. I just made the last payment on that kid’s medical bills.” He squeezed Dorian’s hand just a bit, wondering what the people nearby must be thinking. Here, he'd been playing for tips in a train station, and in sweeps someone like Dorian, night and day as far as anyone could see, to bring him a sweet iced coffee drink and _hold his hand._ He found it funny, and couldn't help the chuckle.

“It's just a load off, you know? Not having that over my head anymore.” There was still the matter of paying Dorian back, whether he liked it or not, but he wasn't going to bring that up. He'd just recently succeeded in getting the man to stop throwing money in his case after all.

“Burgers and beer sound fine, though I am curious about the mention of…. _Jousting?_ ”

\----

That time, Dorian did actually snort as he was drinking, and he coughed a bit. Maker help him. He let go of Cullen’s hand just long enough to cover his mouth and smooth at his mustache, then licked his lips and turned back, “Don’t even worry about it,” he answered with a grin, “Sera and I were talking earlier and it was... a very dirty joke.” His voice was wavering a little with the want to laugh, “use your imagination.”

The automated speaker sounded for their train, and Dorian grabbed Cullen’s hand again, “but burgers and beer, for sure. I take it that means you’ll stay tonight, hm?”

\----

Cullen barked a laugh. “Sure, blame Sera. You two need an adult when you get together, Maker help you.” Still, he looked over at Dorian with what could be described as a smug little smirk, “and I _did_ use my imagination, thank you.” His tone did turn a bit more sheepish at the end, a bit of pink on his cheeks. This back and forth, flirting, had become more natural, but he was still Cullen Rutherford. “If you don't mind me staying over on a work night…”

\----

“I would almost prefer it,” Dorian replied easily, “though it does make it harder to get out of bed in the morning.” He leaned over a little and kissed Cullen’s shoulder, “but it’s a better way to wake up than usual, and I somehow find my days are better. Imagine that.”

\----

Luckily, the train roared into the station then, so Cullen was spared having to respond. It would have been altogether too sappy, and would have likely earned him a few minutes of relentless teasing. But he shared that sentiment. Having Dorian's presence next to him at night was… calming. Soothing even, regardless of whether or not there'd been any steamier activities leading up to it. He'd found himself wishing more and more that he just… didn't have to go. It was easy to pretend, to think that could be his life, and hard to face reality when he made his way back into his own.

Still, even his own gray life had lightened since he met Dorian. “I can imagine,” Cullen answered as they boarded the train that would take them to Dorian’s.

\----

As they rode, Dorian elected to let himself lean against Cullen. He could use the momentum of the car as an excuse, but the truth was that he liked to feel the other man so close. “That’s great you got everything paid off,” he mused, “that’ll put more in your pocket now, right? And less depending on the other two?”

\----

“You know, they've actually been better about things since the… that night. They're not bad people, really, just,” Cullen paused and looked around, hesitant to talk about it with so many around, “... they're still caught up in the old life.” He took a long sip of his drink then. “I imagine as soon as they find out I've paid it off, they'll be right back to old habits. Still, the rally was nice while it lasted. But you don't really want to hear about them, right?” He smiled over at Dorian, enjoying how close he was standing. The train wasn't _that_ crowded, but Cullen wasn't going to complain.

His old life. Something tickled the back of his mind when he mentioned it. Something important he should be remembering it, but it escaped him. He let it go. It would come to him eventually. It always did.

\----

“No, I get it,” Dorian agreed with a nod and sipped his drink, “there’s a reason why I don’t talk to much of anyone from home aside from Felix. It’s… easy to get roped back into that old life because they haven’t gotten out of it.” The few weddings he’d gone to or dinner parties or whatever had been proof enough of that. He had no desire to hear the same conversation that he’d heard since childhood, just replayed with different voices.

He wound an arm easily around Cullen’s waist, “We won’t worry about them tonight,” Dorian offered, “we’ll celebrate and I’ll try my hardest not to cash in another sick day tomorrow.”

\----

Amber eyes cast about the car nervously. Old habits died hard, after all, though he'd gotten used to how open Dorian was in public. Most of the people had their eyes glued on their phones, anyway, so he felt himself relaxing. If he was being honest, he liked all the little touches and kisses, wherever he could get them. In fact…

He turned his head just slightly so his lips were next to Dorian's ear. “I _could_ push you out of bed in the morning… or keep you there. Your call.”

\----

That made him chuckle, “You’re entirely too nice to push me out of bed,” Dorian pointed out. He believed it, too. Cullen might, as a joke, but Dorian could already see the blush on his cheeks after and making sure it was alright. It was actually a rather adorable mental image.

Once they made it back to his flat, Dorian tossed his bag on the couch and stretched a little, “I am ready to do something good tonight,” he announced, “first auction of this quarter started in planning today and I’ve got three pieces in. I’m already exhausted and there’s still weeks before anything actually _happens_.” Nothing a few drinks and colorful evening activities wouldn’t soothe, of course. Curling up with Cullen’s head on his chest while they slept often made him feel better come the morning no matter how stressed out he felt the night before. “Did you... want something here before we go?” Dorian asked, “I may have actually gone shopping yesterday.”

Truly, his flat felt more like a home now. He bought real food that could possibly be cooked and things that weren’t just wine and snacks. It was like he was a real adult and not masquerading around as one on his good days.

\----

“Sure, _something_ ,” Cullen replied as he took a few steps so he was in Dorian's space. They were finally alone, and that talk of _jousting_ and, shit, just Dorian being so close on that train ride… he couldn't help it. He leaned in for a kiss, pressing his lips to Dorian's and pulling him in for just a moment before he backed off. “Oh, did you mean food? Nah. Don't want to spoil dinner.”

\----

“Oh, no,” Dorian laughed and grabbed the front of Cullen’s shirt to pull him back in closer, “you don’t get to start something like that.” He grinned then and kissed Cullen back before winding his arms around the other man’s neck. It was… it felt good. Very good. Easy. Not in that numbing kind of way easy, but just something that he felt comfortable doing. They’d sort of fallen into this, the teasing and the flirting, and after so long now it seemed like Cullen was able to be the one to initiate. Dorian _really_ liked that.

Both hands tangled in that soft hair, and Dorian tugged a bit at the messy bun it was pulled up into. After doing this so long, he had accumulated a fair number of Cullen’s hair ties. They were all, save one he normally wore around his wrist, put away in his bathroom in a small box should the man ever need one when he stayed. More often, though, Dorian would steal them and refuse to give them back. It was just one of the small things they... did. Though he had hoped that by now he would have taken enough to rob Cullen of them completely so he never worse his curls pulled up, but apparently not.

Like the ties, there were small touches of Cullen spread here and there through his flat now: slightly less paper strewn across the flat surfaces in favor of being neatly piled up (though not organized by any stretch), the other toothbrush that joined Dorian’s in the bathroom because it just made more sense than Cullen bringing his every time, and even the small half of shelf space in Dorian’s closet that housed a pair of jeans, couple of shirts, and a few pairs of boxers and comfortable pants. Maker help him, Dorian also bought those cheese and sour cream and onion chips Cullen liked so they could have a bag between them while they watched a movie. Never mind the glass bowl that sat on the coffee table now with the little pocket sizes of various chocolate bars. The things like that, things that made the place look lived in and not just decorated, which offered up some sense of Cullen’s presence and not just Dorian’s.

In any case, Cullen’s presence was enjoyed. A lot. The kisses, ones like they were currently sharing, Dorian felt all the way down to his toes since the first time. They made his head spin and not necessarily in ways that had him reaching for a glass of wine or made him stay up long into the night to worry about it. He’d moved past that, mostly. More than anything it just hit him regularly how _normal_ it felt and how _stupid_ he’d felt for trying to push it back.

“When did you want to go for dinner?” he asked, “because I could do with a quick shower and a change and I think you should join me.”

\----

“Like you have to ask,” Cullen replied with a little glint in his eye. He grabbed Dorian's hand and pulled him towards the bathroom. Those burgers weren’t going anywhere, after all, and he'd appreciate them more after anyway. 

Showering at Dorian's was… an event, and one Cullen quite liked. It always reminded him of that first time - the weekend when he decided he wanted to make the thing with Dorian a, well, a thing. He'd been scared then, terrified really, of giving something of himself away to someone else, of being that open and vulnerable after years of locking himself down. Now, though… well, now was a different story. He'd pushed past that fear at least, and had grown much more bold where these sorts of things were concerned. It felt nice, in more than just the obvious way. It was another piece of who he used to be, come back to him.

\----

Once they’d showered and changed and finally managed to get themselves out and about, Dorian got them down to a little burger and sandwich joint, one that did everything from the little sliders like they’d had at the festival all that time ago to gourmet sandwiches and soup. It was just a nice little place that served good food and good beer. Dorian liked something like that on work nights. That, and it was only a walk from his flat, which was even better.

Once they were seated at one of the little card tables covered in bright tablecloths and plastic, Dorian smiled and rested his cheek against his fist while he first studied the short menu and then Cullen, “So what are you in the mood for?”

\----

“Oh, basically everything from here,” Cullen pointed at the top of the menu, “to about here,” he laughed as he put his finger on the bottom of the menu. He was starving; he always was after _activities_. It had been a little running joke after he'd decided to make pancakes at two in the morning once. That was just… well, it was how he'd _always_ been, and he took comfort in finding there were things about him that hadn't been changed by the last five years. Even stupid things like this. “But I do believe I'll settle for a bacon cheeseburger and chips. So we don't get kicked out.” He paused, “So… how was your day? That auction coming up a big deal?” It was a perfectly normal question during what was going to be a perfectly normal dinner. That gave Cullen a bit of pleasure, too.

\----

“It’s first one of the quarter, which is always a bit of a clusterfuck,” Dorian sighed, “nothing really _changes_ , but there’s a lot of clients who want to put things out only for the first or last ones like it means something, so we end up scrambling. It’s a pain in the ass.” He reached out a hand and rested it on Cullen’s arm, “so this is... exactly what I need right now.”

And how. He’d spent all day on the phone and organizing everything for his pieces, and now he just wanted to do something that wasn’t that. Amazing how it always seemed to be Cullen that he ran to nowadays when he needed that distraction. Or, well, perhaps not _distraction_ but that companionship that Cullen gave him. It was a mix of friendship and a whole host of other things from sex to confidence to Maker only knew what else. Of course he still had Sera and Dagna and Felix that he talked to, and they went out with Sera and Dagna when schedules allowed, but it was always Cullen’s name that Dorian’s hands went to first when he had a shitty (or even not so shitty) day. Where it had been seeing each other at the platform and maybe once the rest of the week before, now they saw each other more nights than not.

It was... good.

_Andraste’s bloody knickers._

They were in a relationship in everything but name.

\----

“Well, I'm glad to be of service, then,” Cullen grinned. He didn't know a ton about Dorian's line of work, but he remembered the stress prepping for the year and submitting lesson plans for approval and all the bullshit paperwork that just got in the way of the learning and the music. He remembered that he felt like he was running in circles and jumping through hoops for a board that kept cutting his funding. It wasn't the same as what Dorian was dealing with, but there was at least that feeling - _a pain in the ass -_ that he could commiserate with.

Still, he'd give anything to get that back, but that was a thought for a different time. It had no place here. He reserved that thinking for when Dorian wasn't around… which these days wasn't very often. That was fine, too. Better than fine. They'd become comfortable, close. Dorian knew more about him now than anyone - he found that thought comforting rather than terrifying. Dorian was… a part of his life now. An important part. Arguably, the _most_ important part.

\----

He chuckled to himself and let his hands drift down Cullen’s arm until it came to his hand. Dorian tangled their fingers together, let his thumb brush along Cullen’s knuckles, and smiled a little wistfully as he studied the menu. It was a quiet moment, not one that needed to be filled with anything other than enjoying being close, and Dorian squeezed Cullen’s hand just a little for it. “So how long do you think you can keep telling your roommates you’re still paying that kid off?” he asked, “at least another few months, I hope. Let them actually be responsible for a while?”

In all this time he’d still not met the illustrious Samson and Maddox, though Dorian didn’t really push for it. If Cullen wanted him to, he’d introduce them, though the few things here and there that he’d said about them still being into the drugs Cullen had been staying away from was a good enough indicator. Dorian wasn’t so into that. Alcohol was his favorite vice, as opposed to some of his friends from Tevinter who could probably put a pharmacy out of business, and he didn’t exactly feel like having to smile through an awkward situation. There was enough of that anyway.

The waitress came then to take their orders: Cullen’s post-coital bacon cheeseburger (which never failed to amuse Dorian, though he was starting to come around to the pancakes or popcorn or whatever it was Cullen went for when they were home) and Dorian’s club sandwich with a small bowl of spicy chicken soup. It was... well, it was a good celebratory thing. Plus two nice beers, of course. It wasn’t a celebration without them.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he offered, “I’m glad all that’s done with now.”

\----

While they waited on their food, Cullen hooked his foot around Dorian's under the table. He'd never been a sit-on-the-same-side-of-the-table person, preferring to face the person to whom he was speaking, but with Dorian, it was nice. Warm. He found it didn't get in the way of the conversation, and it gave him an excuse to lean into the man every now and then.

“Yeah, I'm not saying anything until I have to,” Cullen agreed, and then hesitated. The next thing he wanted to say was something he'd been thinking for a while, but hadn't voiced it. Saying it out loud would make it real, it meant that whoever he told would expect something of him, definite action. The fear of letting others down had kept him from even thinking this could be a possibility. “I, um, I've been thinking it's time for an actual… job,” Cullen admitted, squeezing Dorian's hand nervously, “There's a guy who runs the session musicians at a studio down town, and he's asked me a couple of times. He was there Saturday and asked again. I was thinking I might?”

He hated that the last sentence came out as a question, but he was so unsure still if he could handle it. He found that he wanted to hear what Dorian thought. He wanted the man's advice.

\----

Grey eyes widened a little and a grin spread across Dorian’s face, “That’s great!” he replied. Regardless of how close to his heart the busking was, if only for the sake of how they met, Dorian knew for a fact that Cullen was better than just the playing for tips. He deserved more. Better. That was... a real job would probably be good for him. “Cullen!” Dorian laughed and squeezed his hand again, “no, that’s... you _should_ take it. If you want to, I mean. That’s really good.”

\----

Cullen let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. It was a big step, huge really, and he honestly didn't know if he was ready, but seeing that smile on Dorian's face, hearing that sincere tone in his voice, it gave Cullen just that much more confidence. He could do this. He was tired of scraping by, and even if he had a hard time believing in himself, he had someone now who believed in him. That had made all the difference.

“It'll be odd hours at all times of the day, that's just how it is, but more reliable than what I've been doing... where pay is concerned,” Cullen grinned and then pushed against Dorian playfully, “You might have to share me some evenings, you know.”

\----

“Well, I won’t be happy about _that_ , but I think it’s good for you,” Dorian countered before he squeezed Cullen’s hand again. It would make all of this seem so much more... Maker, was there a word for it? Normal didn’t quite work, since it already felt that way, but perhaps more like something steady. Stable. _Real._ It was easy to pretend otherwise sometimes, but now there was the definite prospect of them both doing the things they wanted to do instead of the things they _had_ to do.

He smiled again and as the waitress came back to drop off their beers, Dorian stopped her for a glass each of champagne. Not a bottle. Just a glass. Something special. “I suppose it means I wouldn’t see you after work every day though, hm?” he asked, “that’s a bit of a pity, isn’t it?” That said, Cullen not taking the job would be more of one. “We’ll just have to find a way to make up for it.”

\----

“Well, it might not work out. He didn’t exactly say it was a done deal, just that I should come down some time.” Cullen’s tone grew a little more serious as he met Dorian's gaze, “He's said as much before. I guess the difference is… now I want to try. Which is new. For me.”

And why was it that he wanted to try? Did it have anything to do with the man sitting beside him or wanting to feel worthy of that man's attentions? Of course it did. At the very least, this thing between them had set quite a few things in motion, giving Cullen courage where he didn't think there was any. To try.

\----

His smile softened a little and Dorian leaned over just a bit to kiss Cullen’s shoulder. The waitress dropped the two glasses of champagne with a smile and Dorian picked up his, “Well,” he began, “I’m definitely pulling for you.” It was probably ridiculous to have champagne in a place like this, but it was so ridiculous that it actually _worked_ for them. “It’s a good step, and... even if it doesn’t work out, maybe it’s a sign you’re ready to do something else,” Dorian told him, then smirked, “I told you I had a good feeling about you. Remember?”

\----

Amber eyes widened at that. He _had_ said that, months ago when Cullen was an almost perfect stranger breaking down on his couch. He'd said that then, and Cullen only realized in this moment that he'd meant it. His throat suddenly felt a bit tighter than it should, and he swallowed some of his own champagne to get rid of that lump. This man was… important didn't seem a good enough word. Significant? Precious? Yes. Dorian had become precious to him. That felt right in his heart, though he'd never be able to articulate it properly, even if he had the bravery to try. He leaned over and let his head rest on Dorian's shoulder, just for a moment. “You did. And I never thanked you for it. So, thank you.”

He straightened up and coughed a bit, perfectly content in this little restaurant with the tacky plastic table cloths with the man he… what? Cared for. So much. More than he thought possible when they’d first met.

\----

It was a nice moment. Dorian held Cullen’s hand in his own and smiled to himself. “So we’re celebrating both,” he pointed out, and gently tapped Cullen’s glass with his own, “paying off that kid’s broken nose and the possibility of a job. Or, you know, getting to the point of wanting to get one. I’m glad.” He sipped from the glass then, “I’m so proud.” And he was. Though Dorian would never, not seriously anyway, make noises that he expected Cullen to have a proper “job,” there was something that made his heart hurt that the man hadn’t put himself back out there for it yet. Then again, Dorian hadn’t wanted to leave his bed in Gereon’s house for almost two months just because getting up had been entirely too hard. These things happened, and there was no set ‘right time’ to bring it up and push. That Cullen _wanted_ to was all the better.

“I, um...I know we’re celebrating, but I’ve got a question for you,” Dorian began, “about something for work, actually.”

\----

What could Dorian possibly want from him that was related to his work? Cullen opened his mouth to ask, but the waitress chose that moment to bring them their food. He waited as she put the plates down, thanked her, and turned back to Dorian.

“Please, ask away,” he said as he popped a chip in his mouth.

\----

He fussed with the plate a little, stirred his soup, and took a breath before he looked up at Cullen, “So… we’ve been doing this thing together for a while, yes?” Dorian asked, “and I haven’t really asked this before because I wasn’t sure if you’d ever be interested. I mean, it’s not _exactly_ the most entertaining thing, but… usually twice a year the office does a little congratulatory pat on the back soiree. They rent out a restaurant or a gallery, or on one very memorable occasion a wing of the museum, and it’s all of us and some clients and buyers and everything. There’s lots of toasting and talking about how amazing it is to find and share all of the things we do.” He’d never done this before. Asking something like this was like his one or two minorly disastrous attempts at finding a date for a dance back in school. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go with me?” Dorian asked, “it’s not for a few weeks, but I wanted to ask so you could maybe make plans or fix them or whatever. If you’re interested, I mean. You don’t have to say yes.”

\----

Cullen blinked slowly a few times. The way Dorian was tripping over his words, the way his hands wouldn't stay still… was he _nervous_? More importantly, was Cullen's chest going to explode from how ridiculously adorable it was? Probably not, but it was a near thing. A delighted little smile played at his lips as he raised his eyebrows, “Are you asking me out on a date, sir?”

\----

“Maker save me,” Dorian chuckled and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, “yes. Yes I am. Not that we _haven’t_ been, but... formally, yes. I would like it if you’d come to this thing with me as my plus one.”

Plus one. He liked that. He liked that a lot, actually.

He paused for a long moment then, and turned to face Cullen a bit more so he could study that handsome face and all those curls that were pulled back but still escaped somehow. The man was beautiful, in a lot of ways, and for a brief moment Dorian could actually hear the ringing of a train horn and the jangling of the warning alarms that usually blared along with it as a train moved past. Only this time it hit him. Metaphorically, of course.

“I’d like it if maybe you’d be my plus one,” he began again and reached over to touch Cullen’s arm like he had before, “you know, formally. As in we’ve been doing this for a while and never really said anything about it. Like a… a…”

_Say it, Pavus. You’re hardly in a Chantry and won’t actually burst into flames. Though maybe sit back a bit just in case the Maker intends to strike you where you sit._

“Relationship?” he finished finally, and that was most certainly not his voice breaking into nearly a squeak. Dorian wouldn’t acknowledge it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	14. +1 [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things change for Dorian and Cullen, and the day of the party arrives.

And there it was - the thing Cullen had wanted to talk about months ago when all this started. The thing that had torn him up with insecurity - _What is this? What am I to him? -_ before he'd decided to be content and let it grow organically. Despite the questions that banged around his head, he'd been happy, _actually happy_ with Dorian.

_Relationship._

Now that it was out in the open, Cullen realized how much fear was in that one word. Having to show up for a job, that was nothing compared to this. This was far larger, far more difficult than someone depending on him to do a job. This was someone depending on him to _be there_ all the time, to trust, to risk his heart for. 

But that someone was _Dorian_. That someone was worth pushing beyond any number of fears. That someone was worth more than Cullen could give him. Fear be damned, he felt his heart thundering in his chest and his joints go loose. He felt like they were the only two people in the world; the bustle of the restaurant faded into nothing, and all he saw were bright grey eyes, waiting for an answer.

“I... thought you'd never ask, and I've been too scared to,” he replied, voice low and soft, “I'd… yes, I'd like that. Very much.”

\----

He wasn’t dead. He hadn’t been struck by lightning, instantly immolated at the prospect of his own hypocrisy, or shot down. Honestly, Dorian had kind of expected at least one or a couple of those things. He hadn’t _planned_ it. He never would have, and it had just... come out. Just like that. Yet it was easier than he’d expected and more fluid than he could have hoped. It didn’t feel forced or disingenuous or instantly like he was trapped (that had been the worst idea). It was just… there. And good. And it had been at least thirty seconds and he hadn’t said anything.

“Good,” Dorian agreed, then made a slightly frustrated noise at himself, “I mean... you know, I’m glad. I’m not at all good at this kind of thing, which I’m sure isn’t a surprise, so I don’t mean to come off flippant. I promise.” He smiled then and leaned over to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “I just wanted it. With you. And if I’m a bit shit at it then I’m sorry, but I’m trying.”

\----

The world slammed back into focus then, and Cullen was aware of two things: 1) the restaurant was full of people, some of them children and 2) he desperately wanted to kiss this man until neither of them could breathe. He managed to reign that urge in, though, and lifted Dorian's hand to his lips, instead. “I could say the same thing, you know,” he chuckled weakly, “I'm a mess. I have no idea why you'd want me. But I'm glad you do. I'm glad we can… try. Together.”

\----

Dorian laughed a bit for that and squeezed Cullen’s hand again before he started in on his soup. For the moment, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than Cullen’s presence. Together was good. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time ‘together’ was an option, if it had ever been. There was a distinct difference between friendship ‘together’ and romantic ‘together’. He hardly knew what it meant to be romantically ‘together,’ outside of hiding in dormitories and making plans that never panned out. This would hopefully be the opposite of that.

“I suspect we’ll be celebrating more than just job offers then?” Dorian teased, “not that I mind.”

Which was a very good point. He had no idea, beyond obligation, what was meant to be actual celebration and what was meant to be more just because it was expected. Surely Cullen wouldn’t be that type. He hadn’t been thus far, at least. “I’m sorely lacking in anything terribly sweet at home,” he went on, “we should perhaps pick something up on the way back. Just because, yes?”

\----

Cullen laughed. His mind was still reeling from this latest development - _I'm in a relationship. With Dorian. How do I even deserve this? -_ and here Dorian was talking about sweets. It tickled him for some reason, maybe because he already felt so… giddy? Maker, was that the right word?

“You know, strictly speaking, we don't need anything sweet to, ah, celebrate,” he answered, “though I will never refuse any of those little cakes if they're offered.”

He took a bite of his burger then. Sweet Andraste, he was famished. He'd forgotten his hunger in the swell of emotions just now, and it had returned with a vengeance.

He also realized he'd not answered Dorian's question about the work party. Part of him, a very tiny part, twisted with anxiety at the thought.  Work parties for most meant awkward obligation to socialize with coworkers. They held another meaning for Cullen, though. A darker one, full of guilt and rain and a careless mistake that ended a life.

But most of him wanted to go, if only to see that part of Dorian's world. It seemed like a good way to learn more about him, and Cullen was surprised to feel a bit of excitement bubble up in himself.

“And about your work thing… I'd like to go, but you know I'd… stand out. I, ah, I doubt I own anything nice enough…”

\----

He waved a hand, not dismissively, but more in a ‘not a problem; kind of way. “I can help with that,” Dorian pointed out, “and it’s hardly black tie, so don’t worry.” A smirk started to pull the ends of his mustache upward and he leaned forward a bit, “it’s certainly not _selfless_ that I ask. I’d love to see you in something slightly fancy.” That, and there was a huge part of him looking forward to bringing that part of him to Cullen. They only talked about work and everything in passing, and it would be nice to have those facets meet up a little more than they already did.

“We’ll worry more about it when it gets closer,” he pointed out, “you handle this job situation first.” It was exciting, actually. Very exciting. “Then we’ll worry about getting you into a pair of pants that make your ass look as fantastic as those jeans of yours,” Dorian went on before he picked up his sandwich and took a bite like he hadn’t said anything of the sort.

\----

Cullen just shook his head and rolled his eyes at that… but he was smiling.

The rest of that evening just sort of floated by. They'd walked home - to Dorian's - stopping off at a little bakery for the tiny cakes Cullen couldn't seem to say no to. They sat in their little box on Dorian's counter, undisturbed until well after midnight. Cullen was always hungry _afterwards_ , and they made a nice little late-night snack.

The next day saw Cullen showing up with his guitar, not at the first station he usually visited to play for tips, but at the studio he'd mentioned to Dorian. His stomach twisted into knots and his fingers felt like they were weighted with lead, but the manager clapped him on the back and invited him to play a few sessions with the band. Nothing too terribly interesting, just a few backing tracks for commercials and some hopeful future star laying down a single on their own dime, but it felt good. It felt purposeful. Cullen found that he _wanted_ this, and that felt good, too.

In the end, he'd walked away with a schedule and the first honest bit of employment he'd had since the school had been forced to let him go. It was surreal, but it was amazing. He had a job. Maybe now he wouldn't feel so… unworthy.

The next few weeks went by in a blur of learning how to juggle both a new job and a new… boyfriend? Maker, at his age, that word sounded so juvenile. He couldn't bring himself to refer to Dorian as such, even if it was effectively the truth. Regardless of what he called the man, Cullen's cheeks pinked and his heart jumped when he thought about it. Of course, not much changed in how they were when they were together, but the transition from their relationship being an unknown quantity to something _real_ had meant the world to Cullen. It quieted those voices that had plagued him. He didn't have to work so hard to beat down that same tired fear of not knowing. Because he knew now.

He just hoped he was enough.

The day of Dorian's party arrived, and Cullen woke with butterflies in his stomach. He rolled out of bed, grabbed a cup of coffee, and went outside to have a smoke. Maybe that would calm his nerves. He had no idea what Dorian had planned, all the man would do was grin and shush him when he tried to tell Dorian he really didn't have to oversee any shopping trips. Or whatever it was that Dorian was up to. He was told to meet him for lunch, but that was about it.

Maker help him, he was entering a whole new world tonight. A world populated with people above his station, who would surely recoil in horror at the knowledge that one amongst them had been living on tips and the kindness of strangers mere weeks ago. He hadn't fooled himself into thinking that just because Dorian had somehow seen past all that, they would too.

_Andraste, help me to not embarrass myself._

After a shower and getting dressed, Cullen made his way to the train station, heading to meet Dorian to start this day that he'd both dreaded and looked forward to since the night they'd done their celebrating.

\----

The planning for the auction had, as usual, taken up more of Dorian’s time than he was really willing to give. Yes, they had planners for all of the social things, but with a few pieces of his own on offer, it just meant hours of finding and tantalizing buyers with his wit and charm and knowledge, which was all wonderful. It was great. It was the job. The auction had gone over like a treat, as the summer ones usually did, and now that it had happened and the focus could be on the celebrations, Dorian was glad for it. He was exhausted, but nothing was quite as good as drinking on the company dime. And Josephine and Leliana were sticklers for the best, which was certainly fine with him. Good booze he didn’t have to pay for were some of Dorian’s favorite words.

What it did, though, was somehow consolidate his time. When things were busy, Dorian lacked the time to sit around and let himself get bored, which usually ended in bad decisions, and especially now with Cullen in the picture, he found he was rarely lacking for something to keep him occupied. Since they were both working now, and Cullen’s job with that house band was irregular, it meant that the time they spent together was actually very… special? Poignant? Something along those lines. It wasn’t as if they had to hoard it because it was few and far between, but it felt more like there was something at stake now. That, more than anything, actually helped Dorian to sort of get over that hump of concern about being in a relationship.

If he wasn’t bored he wasn’t doing anything stupid, after all. He was trying, though. He’d blanked the contacts he had that would, and still did, send messages about an evening together. Sometimes he’d answer with a ‘no can do sorry’ or something equally vague, but they didn’t need to know anything.  Dorian didn’t ask questions of them, nor did he expect them to ask them of him. Thankfully, it seemed they all afforded each other the same kindness. It was almost strange, considering he’d known some of them for a couple of years, but it wasn’t... bad. At first it had been more troubling, especially on the nights when Cullen worked and Dorian’s hands moved without thinking to open up a conversation with someone, then stopped when he realized what he was doing.

It had always been about choice and freedom for him. Feeling penned in, even by his own design, was like torture. He’d had his freedom of choice taken from him before, and he’d vowed to never let it happen again. So this was... well, he had to remind himself (though not often) that he wasn’t limiting his options with other people. What he was doing was maximizing his options with Cullen. If given the choice between Cullen and someone else, Dorian would choose Cullen every time. Which he did. He had the ability to do that, to pick, and he did. Every time.

So now it was a night where things would really be made public. Of course there were always jokes at the office, some of which Dorian joined in and laughed at, but for the most part it had been assumed (by everyone including himself) that he’d be a permanent bachelor. Dorian Pavus didn’t _do_ relationships. He’d had offers to be set up with someone’s son or cousin or friend of a friend, all of which he turned down. Now he was walking in with someone, with _Cullen_ , and trying not to feel like a hypocrite. He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t, but there would be some eyes on him.

Eyes would be on him that had been... well, _on him_ in the past. Great.

Instead of worrying about it, however, he’d dropped by one of the nicer clothes shops a couple of days ago while Cullen had been working for the afternoon. A bit of retail therapy never hurt, after all, and it gave him a chance to pick out something for himself for this party as well a something for Cullen. He’d washed enough of the man’s clothes now to know his sizes (or at least what he wore and Dorian could fill in the rest) so it wasn’t exactly hard. So everything for tonight was done, save for the actual getting ready, and Dorian was feeling more calm than he expected.

He’d also thought ahead to grab them a sandwich each, since completely filling up on canapes was usually frowned upon. Maker help him with all of these small domestic touches. if Felix ever found out he’d never hear the end of it.

\----

Nerves. Nerves for days. Cullen's knee bobbed up and down as he sat on the train, chewing the inside of his cheek.

_It's Dorian. Calm down._

_It's Dorian AND his high-society coworkers._

_Sera’s one of them. She's alright._

_She's the exception to the norm. This is going to be worse than parent-teacher night and you know it. The judging._

_They don't know you. Don't be an idiot and you'll be fine._

The thought of running out the door at the next stop and hopping on the opposite train crossed his mind. He wouldn't, but the thought was there. Several months ago, though, he _would_ have, and that thought was oddly soothing. The fact that he'd grown enough to be afraid, but not _run_ … that was a marvel in and of itself. Just how much things had changed in a matter of months was astounding. He had a _job_ with steady pay now, for fuck’s sake. And at the center of that change was the man he was on his way to see.

Dorian.

He stopped chewing his cheek, finally, and let a smile play at the corners of his mouth. He'd been a broken man when they first met… had only been sober for…

_Wait…_

That little tickle at the back of his mind was back. There was something he'd forgotten.

_Oh._

Amber eyes widened as he pulled his phone out to check the date and that small smile became a wide grin. A lump rose in his throat as realization kicked in.

_A year. I've been clean a year._

In fact, it'd been a year and some odd weeks. He was so busy with the job and so preoccupied with Dorian that he'd missed the day, but there it was. A year. His first instinct was to share this news with Dorian, but he held back. He wanted to hold on to this secret joy for a while, afraid that telling would somehow jinx it.

He let that happiness wash over him, strengthening him and soothing raw nerves. It gave him the confidence to stride off the train, head held high, and sweep Dorian into tight embrace right out there in the open. He didn't care who saw right now. He was just so… happy. This was going to be a _good_ day.

“Hello,” he greeted Dorian as he pulled away, “What's on the agenda today?”

\----

Both arms wound around Cullen’s neck as he was pulled in close and he grinned, “Anything to keep that smile on your face,” Dorian answered before he leaned up on his toes to kiss the man soundly. He did love it when Cullen looked so happy, after all. That was a luxury no one got with fuck buddies, and Dorian found it made him tip the scales completely in the ‘relationship’ favor. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” he asked, grinning as he skirted Cullen’s hands to keep them close, “wait, let me guess. It’s me, isn’t it?”

\----

Cullen laughed at that, throaty and real. “Something like that, though don't let it go to your head,” he teased back. The sun was high in a cloudless blue sky and Dorian was holding his hand. They had the whole day. What could be better?

Cullen ran his thumb in little circles against Dorian's palm as they walked, content to let Dorian steer them. “How about you? How have things been in the, oh, 12 hours since your last text?”

\----

“Not bad,” he answered and squeezed Cullen’s hand, “there’s some food at the house, not for lunch but for later so we can actually have something before the party. The canapes are great, but it’s been my experience that they frown on going back for sixths from the food table.”

Dorian was grinning then, “I’m thinking we have something now... relax a little, and we’ll go home and waste some time until we need to get ready. I may have already gotten your clothes,” he explained, “so we don’t need to worry about that.”

\----

Cullen sucked his teeth. That was another thing he owed Dorian added to the list. Oh, well. He'd find a way to pay him back. Somehow. “You really didn't have to do that. I'm sure I could have found something,” Cullen grumped, but he was still smiling. “Besides that… how do you even know whatever it is will fit?”

 _Whatever it is._ Oh, there was a thought. Now he was curious. What would Dorian pick for him? The things Dorian wore… the vests and jackets and fitted pants, outfits styled _just so_ … they all suited Dorian. Cullen, however, would have looked like a horse's ass in something like that. _Oh, please Maker, save me from overly tight pants…_

\----

The hand in Cullen’s lifted so he could kiss the back of the man’s hand, “I have four pairs of your underwear and a few shirts of yours in my closet,” he pointed out, “you think I couldn’t figure it out?” He grinned then. What he’d gotten for Cullen had been mostly for his own enjoyment. Yes, the party was suit and tie, though not black tie, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to see Cullen done up fully. It made heat pool low in his stomach and the want to push him down an alley so he could kiss the man the way he deserved to be kissed out of sight from the rest of the world was so strong. No. No. They had the afternoon for that.

“I think you’ll like it,” he went on, “I certainly do, anyway, and it’s an investment should you ever need to dress up for work. Now you don’t have to worry about it.”

\----

“Huh,” Cullen mused, “an investment…” That was an interesting way to put it. He liked it; it made him feel warm that Dorian thought him worth investing in. And not just with the clothes - Dorian had put a lot into what they had, even before it was anything. Bail money, for one, but also time and consideration and just being there when Cullen needed someone to be there. Cullen hoped he gave Dorian even a part of that back.

They made their way to what Cullen thought of as their place - that little restaurant close to Dorian's with the delightfully awful plastic tablecloths and at least one very good memory. They'd been there several times since, and some of the wait staff even knew them. Well enough to know Cullen was fond of burgers and to raise an eyebrow when he ordered a turkey sandwich today. Happy as he was, his stomach was still doing flips and the thought of a greasy burger, however delicious, put him off.

The teasing and chatting continued through lunch. Dorian remained tightlipped about what it was Cullen would be wearing that evening, no matter how many times he pried. All he got was “You'll see,” and “your ass will be glorious,” which got a blush out of him. Cullen half suspected that was the point.

All the while, the little chant of _one year sober_ rang in the background. If he could do that, this party would be easy. He hoped.

\----

Once they got back to his flat, Dorian smiled and kicked out of his shoes. It was still early, just past two-thirty, so getting ready wouldn’t be on the cards for a while yet. He didn’t mind the waiting, though. Instead he elected to wile away a couple of hours with a movie on and Cullen’s head resting in his lap so he could tunnel his fingers through those curls. It was a comfortable sort of thing, especially since Dorian tended to watch Cullen’s face more than the movie, and one he’d never expected to have with any seriousness.

But then it was time to actually think of getting ready. The getting dressed part was easy and would arguably take the least amount of time, aside from tie knotting and whatnot, but it was everything else. They’d have to shower separately to keep most of the temptation at bay, of course, and then it would be all hands to get hair and (in Dorian’s case) makeup done on time. Somehow that always got away from him.

“If I show you what you’re wearing will you let me shower?” he asked after a moment and leaned up for a kiss, “since you keep asking.”

\----

“Will I _let_ you take a shower?” One of Cullen’s eyebrows raised as he returned that kiss. He doubted very much that he could stop Dorian from doing anything the man decided to do even if he tried. “If you must.”

Cullen had gotten comfy on the couch, drowsy even, and he was honestly more than a little reluctant to move. But the mention of what Dorian had gotten him was a reminder that the party was eminent, and those butterflies returned. There went comfy.

Still, he _was_ dying to see what Dorian picked.

“But yes, you have to show me.”

\----

Dorian nodded and gestured toward his room. On the back of the door hung two garment bags, he pulled them both down to lie them on the bed and stopped to unzip one and then the other. He gestured to one, one on the left, and smiled, “There you go,” Dorian offered, “have a look.”

\----

“Well, this is just… entirely too nice for me,” Cullen breathed. And it was. Or he thought so. He was looking at a whole… ensemble. A three piece suit, pants, jacket, vest… the whole nine yards. The suit was black, the shirt a deep red, and the tie was a simple black with a solitary thin stripe of matching red down the center. He didn't know much about clothes; even back when he was still _himself_ , his idea of dressing up was incredibly casual. Khakis and a button down. A tie, maybe, if he was going out or for a recital. That was the extent of his “formalwear.”

But this was all clean lines and good construction, black and red and sharp in all the ways Cullen didn't think he was. He reached down to feel the fabric. It was soft, but still had a weight to it he liked. A weight that showed quality. He imagined it would hang well.

It was perfect in its simplicity. Leave it to Dorian. He cleared his throat a bit, touched at how well Dorian seemed to know his tastes.

“But it's… I like it,” he went on, “Very much. You, ah, noticed that I like red….” Maker, that was so lame. He should be thanking the man. “Thank you. Really.”

\----

“Nothing too bright,” he agreed with a nod and moved over to wind his arms around Cullen’s waist, “but I thought a few pieces might not be so bad. Besides... I have a bit of a weakness for vests and seeing you in one will definitely make the rest of the night more interesting.” Dorian pressed a kiss between Cullen’s shoulder blades then, “I think you’ll look amazing.” And he would. Cullen would have to work hard _not_ to. Even in jeans or khakis, the man always looked flawless. This was going to be easy. “I’m glad you like it, though,” he went on, “it’s perfect.”

\----

“It is,” he agreed as he turned to face Dorian, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in for a kiss. He let it linger for a while, though he knew the man was trying to go take a shower. “Sure you don't need any help with the shower? I hear the faucet’s a bitch to work, and I know the trick to it.” He was teasing. Mostly. They had somewhere to be after all. Still, it didn't hurt to try.

\----

He grinned into that kiss, “Oh, listen to you,” Dorian teased, “I mean… I can always use some help. Or at least some company.” They had time. They had plenty of time. No one showed up right when the party started anyway. Fashionably late was always a good idea. “Besides,” he went on a he nipped at Cullen’s lower lip and tangled both hands in those blond curls, “if I’m in there once you get out there’s a chance I might tame this mane a little.”

\----

Cullen frowned a bit, “I was just gonna pull it back.” The look Dorian shot his way told him that no, no he wasn’t _just gonna pull it back._ Well, this would be interesting to see, at least.

They made their way to the shower and actually managed to get clean… eventually. When they were done, Cullen wrapped a towel around his waist and decided to take advantage of all the steam and heat in the room to actually shave. If he was going to dress the part, he figured, he should also try and look it. Luckily, there was a little shaving mirror on the shower wall - Cullen had no desire to fight Dorian over who got to use the big mirror over the sink.

It had been ages since Cullen was clean-shaven. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d taken enough care to do a good job. Of course Dorian had the best kit for it. When he was finished, Cullen turned to Dorian, “Well?”

\----

There was certainly something mesmerizing about watching Cullen with the razor. Dorian couldn’t help it. That, and this would be the first time he’d ever seen Cullen shave. Surely it had to happen, more or less, but he’d never _seen_ it. He liked it.

He wasn’t idle while Cullen worked, though. Dorian shaved, too, taking care to trim his mustache and pluck the few errant hairs from his eyebrows as well. Now was as good a time as any, and when Cullen prompted him he turned as well and smiled, “What a striking jawline,” he teased, “it looks so different when it’s not covered in fuzz.” It was a good look, though. For a moment Dorian could picture Mr. Rutherford instead of just Cullen, and there may have been a twinge of something that was definitely not going to be anything serious for another half hour or so. Gallant effort, however.

“Here,” Dorian prompted and grabbed a stool out from the closet. It was tall enough that they’d be able to see in the mirror, and Dorian just grinned, “Have a seat. We’re going to see what we can do with that hair.”

\----

“You've pretty much got two options, pull it back or leave it down,” Cullen groused, but he still sat down, folding his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. To say he was skeptical that anything nice could be done with that unruly mess was an understatement, regardless of how talented Dorian may be. “Please, be my guest.”

\----

“I’ll take that challenge,” Dorian chuckled and grabbed first a comb to get any knots from those wet curls before he carefully scrunched a dry towel to help loosen them. His own hair was wavy, just curly enough to be annoying care of the Thalrassian line, so true curls weren’t his forte. Still, Dorian knew when some love could be applied. He worked in a few things from tubes and bottles, brushed his fingers through luxuriously soft curls while they dried, and easily wrapped one of the many hair ties he had around so Cullen’s hair fell in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. Some curls, of course, escaped and curled around his face, but for all Dorian’s efforts they were soft and expertly brushed away from Cullen’s forehead.

When he was satisfied, Dorian kissed Cullen’s shoulder and moved to do his own hair. It was much the same as Cullen’s with the loose and easy waves that softened his features just a little, and he grinned from where he stood behind the other man in the mirror, “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

\----

He loved the feeling of Dorian's fingers in his hair. It was the foremost reason he hadn't cut it in the summer heat… or just because it would have served as an outward sign that he'd turned a corner. He watched Dorian's face, smiling at the concentration painted on his features, before closing his eyes and just enjoying the tingles and shivers that ran down his spine.

He was surprised to feel Dorian pulling hair through one of his hair ties. He'd expected him to leave it loose for as much as the man grumbled about the messy buns or ponytails Cullen kept it up in. He opened his eyes when Dorian had finished. The words _a ponytail… I could have done that_ were on his tongue but no, no he couldn't have. The curls were soft, but more defined and _smooth_. There wasn't a sign of the usual frizz that hounded him. _I should have been paying attention._

Watching Dorian work on his own hair was a little like watching a magician reveal his tricks. Cullen had wondered on many occasions how he got it just so… and how it stayed that way. Apparently, it was practice and beads of whatever creams and gels he used. So, still like magic to Cullen.

_We're quite the pair, aren't we?_

Cullen liked that word, _pair,_ it warmed him and made him smile up at Dorian's reflection in the mirror. Like this, the contrast between the two was apparent. Cullen's pale, freckled skin set off Dorian's beautiful darker body. Not for the first time, Cullen thought it was… pretty.

“I think so,” he grinned, “Quite handsome. At least you are.” He stood then and turned to kiss Dorian's forehead. Just something sweet, for now. “Nice job, by the way. I underestimated your skills, clearly.”

\----

He grinned, “You should know better than that,” and turned a bit to wind his arms around Cullen so he could kiss him, “I’m guessing that’s all I’ll get away with, hm??” Maker bless him, the man was beautiful with his hair tamed and the prospect of that suit. Too much more and Cullen would be too much to endure at once. “That’s alright,” Dorian went on and kissed him again, “maybe we’ll try a bit of eyeliner and eyeshadow when it’s something you’re more comfortable with.”

\----

“Mmmmmm,” Cullen murmured against those kisses and then laid his head in the gentle curve between Dorian's neck and shoulder, pressing light kisses there, too, as he pulled the man in tighter. The feeling of Dorian's warmth pressed against him, the allure of that soft skin, fresh from the shower and so delicious under his lips, was intoxicating. Cullen just held him for a moment, letting that feeling ebb and flow. The idea that he shouldn't be so lucky, that he wasn't worthy of this tender moment, surfaced, and he squeezed tighter. He would be worthy. He would be better. He was already on his way.

He broke the embrace just enough to look at Dorian and chuckle. “I'm almost positive I'd look ridiculous, but maybe one day I'll lose my mind enough to see,” he raised a hand to let his thumb stroke Dorian's freshly shaved cheek, “ _You're_ beautiful either way, of course…. but it suits you.” He coughed, pulling away before he got altogether too sappy. “And I think it's time I got dressed now.”

\----

Dorian pulled Cullen back into him, the man’s back against his own chest, and he pressed a few warm kisses between his shoulders and up his neck to his ear, “That’s terribly rude, you know,” he murmured, “starting something we can’t finish before we go.” Not that he was under any illusions they wouldn’t come back and probably spend long into the morning enjoying each other. Breakfast, probably, was going to bleed into lunch. It just meant that the open bar was only going to be used in moderation (did Dorian actually know that word? Truly?) so he could be sober enough to get Cullen back home and out of that suit again later. “Leave off the tie, hm?” Dorian prompted, “I’ve got something special planned for that.”

With another smirk he landed a gentle slap against Cullen’s backside and set to pulling down the small bag that contained what makeup he normally wore from the cabinet. He’d let Cullen dress, which was a chance to calm himself down a touch, and then worry about himself. For the moment, he just set to giving himself just a bit of dark gray and gold around the eyes. It completed the look, after all. That, and it was expected now. He was ‘the Tevinter,’ so it had to mean he had a flair for the dramatic. Dorian did, though, and rather liked it.

When he finished, he made his way to the bedroom to help Cullen with the last touches, and turned when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Leliana. Josephine. Last minute crises. Ugh. No, he wasn’t going to deal with it. If anyone wanted to know, he’d been in the shower for the last two hours and for the next forty-five minutes. At least that would keep him out of doing anything else.

\----

“Good, because I can't tie a tie to save my li..  hey!” Cullen snorted with mock indignation as he felt that smack. He shot Dorian a grin and made his way into the bedroom so the man could do… whatever it was that he did with the eyeliner and such. It was a mystery to Cullen.

He pulled on underwear and an undershirt and then turned his attention to the suit Dorian had chosen for him, pulling the pieces out, careful not to wrinkle anything.

_Here goes nothing. If this doesn't fit, Dorian's going stag._

He idly wondered if Dorian would let Cullen stay in his apartment without him as he pulled the shirt on. So far so good, it fit pretty well. How the man eyeballed his neck size for the collar, he'd never know. Experience, he assumed. He ran his hands down the front of the shirt, smoothing it and feeling the fabric. It was silky soft without feeling fragile - sateen was the word, he thought - and nicer than anything he'd ever bought himself.

_Enough mooning over a shirt, Rutherford._

The pants were next, and would wonders never cease, they fit… well. Cullen was pleased that they weren't those tight little numbers that looked so good on Dorian but would have made Cullen feel insanely self conscious. There was even a belt, black with one of those flat rectangular buckles in a brushed silver. Not too shiny, but a little flash amongst the black and red. He liked it.

Finally, he put the vest on, saving the jacket for last. He was being a little silly, he knew, but he avoided Dorian's full-length mirror the whole time. It seemed he had a little of Dorian's penchant for the dramatic. He was saving that for when he was fully dressed… for the full effect, so to speak.

“Ok… time for the tie, I think,” Cullen called into the bathroom.

\----

Dorian came out grinning. Oh, Maker help him for the rest of the night with Cullen looking like that. He was staring, possibly with a slightly open jaw, and Dorian chuckled a bit. “Look at you,” he all but purred as he moved in closer so he could smooth a hand along Cullen’s arm and twirled a finger to get the man to turn, “let me inspect.” There was a distinct possibility they would need to find and empty space at the party, a room or closet maybe, should Cullen be amenable. Perhaps he’d done _too good_ a job at picking this out.

“I’ve outdone myself,” Dorian commented before he moved to get dressed as well. He’d handle the ties together, after all, and set to get into his mostly black ensemble. He preferred that with only some peeks of gold here and there to set off what was around his eyes. Quite magical, he thought, and dark and mysterious. Sexy. Not even hopefully; he knew it was. “How does it feel?” he asked as he buttoned up his shirt, “not too tight anywhere?”

\----

Cullen rolled his eyes a bit as he turned for Dorian. It made him feel a little _on display_ and even though it was just the two of them there, it was still ever so slightly… uncomfortable? Still, it was just a turn. He could oblige, especially considering the look it put in Dorian's eyes.

But how did it feel? Different, for sure, but good. He could pretend that he belonged in these clothes for a night, that he wasn't still struggling, job or no. “No, not at all, though I suspect you're going to ask me to button this top button soon. My tune may change then.” Proper fit or not, Cullen Rutherford had never been the type to button the top button on his shirts. Too constricting. But it was a small sacrifice, considering.

He leaned against the wall and watched Dorian get dressed. He felt the little half smile forming on his face as the look came together. Dorian was a specimen even just lounging in a tank and underwear with his hair all mussed from sleep. This… this was just beyond that. The man knew how to put himself together, that much was fact. Cullen felt an odd little twinge of pride that they were _together_ , that this incredibly beautiful, incredibly smart, incredibly incredible man had somehow chosen _him._

\----

“Have you gotten away with wearing a tie and _not_ buttoning the top button before?” Dorian asked before he turned to smile at Cullen. He’d been tying his own since grade school, private and boarding, so the thought of such a thing was almost scandalous. Even in the heat of Tevinter summers they were expected to stay buttoned up completely. Miserable sometimes, sure, but it was just how it _was_.

He grabbed his own tie to quickly slide it under his collar before moving over to Cullen. The man was beautiful, even without the tie. Maker save him, but the man could get away without it if he really wanted to. That slight fall of curls over one shoulder, those eyes, and that body accentuated by clean and crisp lines... it was almost obscene. It probably wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Cullen practically oozed sex like that. It was like when he was on stage.

Nimble fingers worked quickly, and a smirk touched Dorian’s face as he pulled and flipped and straightened the tie through itself. This was a work of art. _Cullen_ was a work of art, and just a normal knot wouldn’t do. No, this deserved something special. So saying, Dorian pulled out the knot that he only ever bothered with for special occasions. This _was_ a special occasion. They were going out, doing something that was new for them both, as a couple. An actual couple. A regular knot wasn’t good enough for that.

\----

“I may have secretly unbuttoned the top one and loosened the tie as soon as no one was looking,” Cullen laughed and wondered at Dorian's hands expertly doing… something. Maker, what _was_ he doing? Cullen was hardly an authority on such things, but this was quite a bit more effort than a tie should take. Dorian finished, straightening and adjusting as he stepped away. Cullen could tell he was pleased with himself, so apparently the effort was a success.

He finished dressing then, buttoning the vest and finally pulling the jacket on. He took a hesitant glance at Dorian before stepping in front of the mirror.

Dorian was behind him, but for once, Cullen's eyes weren't trained on him. He stood there, wide eyed, just looking at… himself.  _Was_ that him there in the mirror? An unexpectedly powerful wave of emotion crashed over him. When was the last time he didn't look like he belonged in the seedy world he'd found himself in? Too long. He'd been gone far too long. He swallowed hard to force the lump that was forming down and out. Embarrassing, really, to get choked up over a suit of clothes, but there it was.

“It's good,” he finally said, “Thank you.”

\----

“You look great,” Dorian affirmed before he leaned in to kiss Cullen’s cheek. The man looked like he was in shock, really. Then again, how often did a teacher and widower probably get this dressed up? That was a bit of a dark thought, actually, since Dorian could probably pinpoint two very real situations that would have put Cullen in a suit. Suddenly he was glad he’d gone for red as opposed to black, and Dorian vowed that he wouldn’t let anything bad touch them. Cullen deserved better than to be hurt again, after all.

He quickly finished with his own tie, something simple and elegant, and tucked a pocket square that matched his tie into his jacket, “I’ll call for a cab,” Dorian offered, “you handle the last touches, hm?” One hand grabbed his phone off the bedside table and quickly unlocked it, a smile spreading across his face for the sight of his wallpaper. He always smiled when he saw it: his and Cullen’s face pressed together for a selfie, big grins, and Cullen smiling as he kissed Dorian’s cheek. They’d been out for, of all things, ice cream. It was the epitome of cliche and adorable, but it still made Dorian’s heart beat faster.

Though it beat faster for another reason when he saw the message waiting for him. There were the usual ones from Josephine (about how everything was ruined, then not, then ruined again) and Leliana (last minute changes in calm text, instructions Dorian already knew, subtle jabs at a few guests that were inside jokes), but the one he fixated on for the moment wasn’t from them.

_[Frederic - Serrault’s (6:47PM)]: Going to be there tonight? You’ve been quiet lately._

Of course. Dorian sighed, deleted the message, and quickly called a cab instead. Should he see Frederic, he’d kindly explain his situation. He was allowed a... boyfriend, after all. Cullen being there would probably help matters, too, since it wouldn’t look like a cheap ploy to be left alone. Frederic was a good guy, surely, but... slightly obnoxious, especially when drunk. ‘No’ didn’t feature in his vocabulary when it came to work or drunken conquests, and Dorian didn’t feel like having to explain that.

When the cab texted that it was close, poked his head back in the bedroom and smiled, “Ready?” he asked, “cab’s nearly here.”

\----

Cullen grabbed his wallet and phone out of his bag and stashed them in the inside pocket of his jacket. His hand hesitated over the pack of cigarettes tucked in the bag. He really needed to quit… and that box would throw off the look… not to mention the smell. It seemed a shame, so he left them there, hoping his nerves wouldn't get so bad he'd regret that decision later.

The cab ride over saw the return of the butterflies in his stomach. He held Dorian's hand perhaps a bit too tightly, but he couldn't help it. He needed that reassurance that he wouldn't be putting himself out there alone with all those strangers from another world. His knee bobbed up and down as he chewed the inside of his cheek. _Breathe, Cullen. They're just people. And Dorian will be there. And maybe Sera._ He'd found that Sera was always good for disarming the tension.

“Will Sera be at this thing?” he asked as he realized he hadn't yet.

\----

While they rode, Dorian kept his thumb running over Cullen’s knuckles in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He noted how tightly the other man was holding his hand, whether out of nerves or something else, and it made him smile as he checked through the last minute messages on his phone. “Should be,” he answered, “though with an open bar I expect Dagna will need to keep her fairly reeled in.” Grey eyes lifted to meet amber ones then and Dorian smiled, “I promise it won’t be all up-their-own-ass academic types, but a fair few.” Including himself, of course, but that wasn’t the point. “At least this isn’t an actual auction,” Dorian went on, “I’ll spare you that indignity for as long as possible. I’d hate to see what you think of me babysitting rich noble brats and museum curators to get a decent commission. In fact, I don’t think I could handle you seeing that.”

\----

That actually got a chuckle out of Cullen. The thought of _Dorian Pavus_ ingratiating himself to anyone was hard to swallow, and a bit amusing… though he wasn't sure _he_ actually wanted to see it, either. He could only imagine what that set of people would demand, after all, and he was pretty sure he'd just end up angry on Dorian's behalf if they were as bad as all that.

The cab entered a part of the city he wasn't familiar with as they chatted. The conversation was light, probably because Dorian could sense his nervousness. It was pretty fucking obvious, but as they talked, he felt some of it slide away. He always had the option of stealing Dorian away to a less crowded area if it got to be too much. There was always a dark corner or two at any party in Cullen's experience… which wasn't huge, but he still knew there was likely a hallway or bathroom where he could escape and breathe if he got overwhelmed. And if Dorian followed… all the better. He was looking especially tempting tonight…

Before he knew it, the cab pulled up to the curb and stopped. “Here we go,” Cullen sighed as he stepped from the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	15. +1 [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen and Dorian encounter a few bumps when they learn that their ideas of intimacy differ quite a bit.

“You’ll be fine,” Dorian promised as they got out of the cab. This time they were at a gallery owned by one of their clients, which served to show off a few pieces they’d sold, and it was rather pretty. Predictable, but pretty. The place would be decked out in fairy lights and elegant hipster chic. It could have been worse, for sure, and at least it was reasonably small. Hopefully, that would help Cullen not to feel quite so out of place. “Come here,” he prompted and moved to smooth his hands down Cullen’s arms and up to cup his face, “you don’t have to do anything but have a good time, alright?”

It was true. They were just there for a good time. Cullen only had to enjoy himself, the drinks, and the food. Maybe the art if he were so inclined. This wasn’t anything to do with business tonight. “I’m glad you’re here,” Dorian went on and leaned up for a kiss, “I really am.”

\----

Cullen leaned into that kiss and raised one of his hands to cover Dorian's. The man was right. He would be fine. He'd navigated the horrors that were parent teacher conferences and managed tiger moms and helicopter parents alike. He could manage to enjoy himself in a place that was providing free drinks and included Dorian amongst the attendees. He could do this; he just had to not act like an ass.

The kiss broke, but Cullen held on to that hand, not squeezing it for dear life as he had been in the cab this time. He flashed Dorian a smile as he took a breath. “I'll be fine. I'm glad to be here, too. With you, in any case,” he replied as he turned to face the building, “Shall we?”

\----

Once they were inside, Dorian did the requisite introductions. Both Leliana and Josephine had smirked upon meeting Cullen, gave Dorian the sidelong glance, and kissed Cullen’s cheeks with the promise to chat later. They were clearly amused at the prospect of Dorian bringing someone, and someone so handsome, which would demand a bit of catching up. At least in that much, anyway, Dorian was only mostly completely embarrassed. They weren’t as open as Sera was, but enough that Cullen would have to know that this... really was something new to him.

Others in attendance included various University professors, museum curators, and a dwarf writing for the Journal. Varric. Dorian and Varric got along famously, and he’d clapped a hand on Cullen’s back a moment before stating, “I was wondering when Sparkler might net himself someone,” and grinned, “someone for real, anyway.”

“Yes, thank you,” Dorian shushed, and waved Varric off, “you can tell all the embarrassing stories later, perhaps after we’re completely gone on red wine.”

He sighed then. It had been an hour, all of which had been full of chatter, and turned to look at Cullen, “How are you doing?” Dorian asked, “we can go find a quiet spot if you need a minute to breathe. Maker knows I could use one.”

\----

It… it actually wasn't as bad as he'd built it up to be in his mind. By the time they got there, the guests had already broken into their circles of conversation, something Cullen was familiar with. It had happened at every PTO meeting he'd ever had the displeasure of attending. If it was anything at all like that, he imagined there was a fair amount of gossip going on in each of those circles. He smiled at how familiar and strange this was at the same time. It was the same shit as anywhere else… they were all just dressed nicer.

He actually enjoyed watching Dorian as he dragged Cullen from group to group. This was a side of him he rarely saw, since most of their time together was spent alone or with Sera and Dagna. This was truly his element, and he clearly drew a certain kind of energy from it. Cullen felt a little twinge of regret, feeling like he deprived the man of this sort of thing. So, he tried his best to fit in, smiling in the right places and responding with as much wit as he could muster… which wasn't much, but damn it, he was trying.

He quite liked the writer… Varric, he thought his name was. He was a little disappointed when Dorian flitted away from him, though what he said gave Cullen pause. _Someone for real._ What was that supposed to mean? He also noticed the looks some people were giving him, and hoped it was just curiosity over a newcomer as opposed to judgment, as if they could somehow sense he didn't belong.

“You know, I'm actually ok. Might be the wine talking, though,” Cullen laughed as he drew closer, “But I won't say no to a moment alone with you… _Sparkler_.”

\----

That made him chuckle and Dorian turned to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “Don’t you start,” he teased as he took Cullen’s empty hand. They were both carrying drinks for the moment, though Dorian hadn’t touched most of his for the need of too many people to speak to. This felt good, though. It was nice to show Cullen a few things.

“Come on,” he prompted and nodded toward the back of the room, “we’ll have a look at some pieces and take a breather, hm?” Dorian squeezed Cullen’s hand then and led them away from where most of the people congregated so he could take a breath and lean a bit against the other man. “This is better for a little bit.”

\----

The art was probably perfectly lovely and somehow worth all the stress it caused Dorian during the pre-auction planning phases, but Cullen didn't really notice. He made the appropriate noises of appreciation as Dorian talked about them when they’d made their way out of the crowd, but Cullen's attention was on the man himself. The way his face lit as he talked about this obscure bit of knowledge or that archaic painting technique was mesmerizing. Cullen doubted even Dorian knew how happy he looked just talking about his trade. It was… endearing and Cullen felt a heat that wasn't from the two glasses of wine he'd already had. As soon as they'd rounded a corner and found themselves in a reasonably private little alcove, Cullen pulled Dorian to him, pressing scarred lips against Dorian's for a long moment. He pulled away then, and murmured, “I'm having a lovely time, but when is it socially acceptable to get out of here?”

Maker, as nice as that suit was on Dorian's frame, Cullen was ready to have the man out of it.

\----

Maker help him. Dorian would have slithered out the door with Cullen immediately. They should. They should go. He’d made the appearance. If they left now, it wouldn’t matter. Maybe they should. “Soon,” he agreed before he grabbed Cullen’s vest to pull him back in again, “I’m sorely tempted to sneak out and say one of us was feeling ill.” He kissed those lips, tangled his fingers more harshly in Cullen’s vest, and groaned softly.

Except he still had a few clients left. If he chatted to some and not others it would have been a slight, and a few of them were _terribly_ Orlesian. Dorian couldn’t risk it. “One more round,” he promised, “we’ll talk to everyone and go. They should be so glad I don’t find a broom closet. Except there’s probably already someone in it, but that’s hardly the point."  _And it wouldn’t be the first time_.

\----

Oh, but that little groan had Cullen going. In fact, just seeing Dorian like this, fully in his element and _on,_ was doing things to him for which he hadn't prepared when he was working himself into a nervous snit about this party earlier. It seemed silly now, how twisted up and out of sorts he’d let himself get, especially on the back of such a good day. One year clean, a job, a suit… and Dorian - did he ever dare to imagine these things when he made the shaky decision to just fucking _stop_ last summer? No. If he was being honest, he secretly assumed his efforts to quit would have been like the other times, well intentioned, but short lived… and now look at him.

He smiled. “I should say hi to Sera and Dagna, too. Saw them earlier and waved, but it'd be rude to just leave, right?” Still, despite his words, his hands found their way to Dorian's hips, fingers grabbing a bit roughly and pulling him back in. “But first,” he murmured as he leaned in for another kiss, teeth nipping at Dorian's bottom lip. It was heated, but quick. “So you don't forget.”

\----

His head was buzzing. It was buzzing with the want to just grab Cullen’s hand and find somewhere even more private so they could relieve the heat in his blood, and it was buzzing with just the intense _happiness_ he felt to have Cullen there with him and looking at him like that. No one had ever looked at him like that, not like Cullen did and _meant it,_ and Dorian just wanted to enjoy it for another moment. “Like I could forget,” he chuckled before he leaned in to nuzzle his face in against Cullen’s temple.

He felt like a teenager, only… happy. _Excited_. What was the word? Of course _smitten_ came to mind, just like it had every day since all this began, but there was another one. _Aflutter_ maybe? Yes, but not quite. _Twitterpated_ , perhaps. Yes. Six-year-old him would have been so proud.

“Alright,” he breathed, and took Cullen’s hand to move them back toward the rest of the party, “too much more of that, and we won’t make it out of here.”

\----

Cullen gave a little laugh and squeezed Dorian's hand as they made their way back to the bustling crowd. _And would that be so bad?_ he thought, but elected to keep that one to himself. It was a party, but Dorian did have a few obligations. Cullen wanted many things, but not to complicate the man's life any further than he had already. Plus, it _had_ been nice, being in mostly polite society again. There were worse things than one more round of hellos before leaving with the remarkable man at his side to finish the evening elsewhere.

He let Dorian steer him to a circle of faces they hadn't greeted before, smiling at how… easy this had been. He was… he was almost _proud_ of himself. It was an odd feeling.

\----

One of the first people they’d run into was Bram Kenric, who immediately clapped Dorian on the shoulder and started speaking excitedly about... something. Dorian was grinning, obviously enjoying it, and he gestured to Cullen, “This is Professor Kenric from the University of Orlais. I’ve been working with him since I started,” he explained.

The man held a hand out to Cullen, “Any friend of Dorian’s is a friend of mine,” and grinned, “it’s good to meet you.

Another man appeared at Kenric’s side then, smiling, and he sipped from a glass of champagne, “Dorian has friends, now?” he asked, and nudged Kenric, “who would have thought?”

“This is my buyer, Frederic,” Kenric offered to Cullen, “we’ve managed to bring some interesting pieces to the University between the three of us.”

Frederic smirked again, “Indeed,” and shook Cullen’s hand, “though not without some fun here and there, too.”

That made Dorian roll his eyes. Not now. Frederic had a bad habit of letting his mouth go too far. “Fun as meeting with the Dean of the department was,” he deadpanned, “not quite my idea of a great time.”

“I seem to recall showing you a good time.”

\----

The professor's grip was strong and his face was kind. Cullen smiled and nodded a greeting as they shook hands. Cullen had a lot of respect for those who chose a life of learning and teaching; that very thing had been near and dear to his own heart, and still was. What he didn't have much respect for was the way this newcomer sidled in, or the tone he used. Or the implication that Dorian didn't have friends. Of course the man had friends. _Jerk_ , Cullen thought and dismissed him.

Until… _this is Frederic._

Frederic. That name rang a bell, and Cullen tuned out for a moment, lost in thought. Where had he heard that name before? _Oh_ , he thought, realizing it wasn't a name he'd heard, but one he'd _seen._ That message he'd intercepted, the one that had set him off on a momentary tangent of doubt the night of the street festival. Hadn't that been from a Frederic? It seemed likely that this was him.

_I seem to recall showing you a good time._

That pulled him back and he felt himself bristle. His eyes narrowed a bit as he considered the man's smarmy tone and the little shit-eating grin on his face. A good time, though, could mean anything. And even if it meant _that_ , well that was in the past. _Cordial, Cullen. Play nice._

“I'm sure Orlais, especially the capital, has much in the way of entertainment,” he offered, still hoping he'd read it wrong, past activities or not. The fact that the text message he saw came after, well, the first time… it didn't sit well with him. Not now, seeing the way the man was eating Dorian up with his eyes.

\----

Kenric chuckled then, “Perhaps the next time Dorian comes up for a lecture you might come with him? The theatre is…”

“A spectacle?” Dorian provided, glad for a change of subject. he nudged Cullen, “indoor pyrotechnics. Opera. It’s all very-”

“Civilized?” Kenric teased before he patted Dorian’s shoulder again and excused himself to find someone else.

When he was gone, Dorian turned to Cullen and offered a small smile, “did you maybe want to get out of here?” he asked.

“My, someone’s shameless these days,” Frederic teased, “I have to practically beg you anymore.”

\----

Cullen could feel the hair rising on his arms. _Beg?_ That was hard to read any other way. Fine. What Dorian did before him was Dorian’s business. It was. What was more distressing, what he couldn't willfully misinterpret… _anymore?_

He clenched his jaw and looped his arm around Dorian's waist. “I think it might be about that time, yes,” he replied, working to keep his tone light as he pressed a kiss to Dorian's temple. _There, is it obvious enough for you, asshole?_

\----

Dorian tangled his hand back around Cullen’s and leaned into him. Somehow that felt better. He was about to say something, but Frederic got there first: “Oh, come on,” he chuckled, “if you’re going to disappear you can at least tell me why you haven’t answered my messages.”

“I wasn’t aware I was under any obligation,” Dorian drawled.

Frederic rolled his eyes, “Brat,” and looked between Dorian and Cullen for a moment, “if you weren't looking for something fun tonight, you could have said something instead of bringing someone else, you know.”

The hand in Cullen’s tightened, “You mean instead of bringing my…” he faltered, then clenched his jaw. _Fucking commit._ “My _partner_?”

There was a beat of silence, then Frederic started laughing, “Funny, Pavus,” he snickered. Again he cast a glance up at Cullen before he moved in closer to Dorian and kissed his cheek. To anyone else it might have looked like a simple Orlesian goodbye, but he lingered for a moment longer, “I’ll be upstairs,” he murmured loud enough for both Dorian and Cullen to hear, “you always like that, no?”

He moved away then, which left Dorian tight as a bowstring and shaking. The hand around Cullen’s was squeezing like a vice, and he took a moment to breathe. “ _Fuck_.”

\----

_You always like that… Always…_

Cullen dropped Dorian's hand and took a step away. His face was hard, though his insides were shaking. Fear. Anger. Adrenaline. And somewhere in the mix, a feeling of dull resignation. Of course. Of fucking course.

But he didn't _know_ , not really. One drunk asshole didn't mean anything.  He had to hear it from Dorian. So, heart thundering and teeth clenched, he asked.

“What was that about?”

He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

\----

For a moment, Dorian hadn’t realized Cullen had let his hand go for how clenched it was. Frederic was shameless, petty and more of a brat than Dorian could be, and apparently more than fine with propositioning him _in front of someone._ They’d always operated with sly glances and innuendo. To have it laid out there so plainly was obscene and it made Dorian’s skin crawl.

“The man’s a fool,” Dorian practically spat, “I’m sorry he... ugh.” Disgust was written on his features, mouth turned down, and he lifted a hand to brush over his face. “I think we really _should_ go after that,” Dorian muttered, “I think everyone will understand.”

\----

That wasn't the point. That wasn't the point of the damn question, and Cullen thought Dorian _knew_ that. He knew Frederic was a fool, one glance told him that. He wanted to know what his words meant. That much, Cullen thought, was obvious, but apparently, he couldn't give Dorian room to maneuver. To avoid telling him what he wanted… what he _needed_ to know. In this, at least, he'd have to be direct.

“No. What did he _mean_ , Dorian? Always?”

\----

This wasn’t the place he wanted to have this conversation, if ever, and certainly not after that. “Not ‘always’,” Dorian snapped, “he was being deliberately… I don’t know, annoying.” He clenched his hand again and looked up to meet those amber eyes. Cullen was angry. He heard it in his tone. Cullen had never been _angry_ at him. “It’s nothing, alright?” Dorian prompted, “he... anything that’s happened with him happened before you and I.”

\----

An eyebrow arched in response to the heat in Dorian's tone. Cullen felt a heat of his own rising to match it and his breathing became quicker, more shallow. He was certain now that Dorian hadn't been completely truthful in his explanation of that text several months back - co-workers wanting to go out, indeed. If Dorian had stretched the truth then, what said he wasn't now? It didn't help that the message had come after they'd slept together. Just bad timing? Maybe. Could Cullen live with that? Could he live with the doubt eating at him whenever they weren't together?

No.

“Before we what? Before we had sex?” his tone was low and quiet, controlled. His heart was anything but.

\----

“What?” he asked. Dorian was trying to keep his voice down. He’d always vowed to never be _that person_ arguing with someone at a party, had always laughed at them, so this was more uncomfortable than he really wanted to be. Never mind, what did them having sex having anything to do with this? “Before we decided to make this _something_ ,” Dorian answered, “I wouldn’t cheat on you, Cullen. You know that.”

\----

It clicked then, and Cullen's heart sank. The anger left him as quickly as it had come on, leaving him deflated. If he was right, Dorian meant that conversation in the restaurant when he'd asked Cullen to come to this party. When he'd said he wanted a relationship. Everything before that was apparently fair game to Dorian. All the months of getting closer, learning about one another, being happy just to be together… had Cullen been mistaken that whole time?

His voice was small as he asked what he already knew by now, “Before that. When we were together for months before that… there were others?”

\----

Dorian folded his arms over his chest to regard Cullen, “Maker, what do you _take_ me for?” Though what Cullen meant by ‘together for months’ was a bit worrying. Dorian remembered that day at the festival, when they’d agreed that they wanted to see where it went with them, but they’d never said anything past that. “Others like you? No,” Dorian answered, “you’re the only one I’ve been this close to.”

\----

Cullen blinked and felt himself relaxing. Shame crept in then, as he realized what he'd been accusing Dorian of. _What do you take me for?_ Things had been fine. They'd been better than that… they'd been fucking wonderful, and Cullen let that slithering creep unsettle him so much that he was standing here, in public, accusing Dorian of sleeping around. What did that say about _him?_ Was he so dead set in his conviction that he couldn't have a single good thing, that the world would find a way to fuck him, that he would willingly believe such a thing about a person who'd given him so much? It was unworthy. _He_ was unworthy.

“I'm sorry,” he breathed as his shoulders slumped, “I thought you may have been… sleeping with other people when we were sleeping together. The way that guy talked, I just… I'm sorry.”

He looked up to meet Dorian's gaze, hoping that was enough, that this horrible moment would pass and they'd be ok.

\----

Oh...  _fuck_. They couldn’t have this conversation there. Not in front of everyone. _Shit shit shit, fuck, Maker damn it all._ The words rang out in Dorian’s head until they hurt. “I haven’t since we…” he began and lifted both hands to rub at his face and run through his hair, “you know what, come with me. I’m not having this conversation in here where everyone can hear it.” The last thing he needed was a joke about his very private and very new and apparently very _precarious_ relationship crashing and burning around him come Monday.

He led Cullen outside, waving off anyone who tried to stop him along the way, and once they were out in the warm evening and a bit away from the building, Dorian turned around to face the other man, “I never cheated on you. I’m telling you that _first._ The minute we made this something official, with actual words where we agreed that we were a couple, I stopped anything I had going.” It was important to lay that out. “And anything I ‘had going,’ before you ask, doesn’t mean like what you and I were doing. I wasn’t close to anyone like I am to you. But until those words happened, where we _agreed_ we were more than… whatever we were, yes. On occasion I did sleep with other people. I expected you did too, but I’m getting the impression that’s not the case.”

\----

Dorian's words crashed into him and around him like a wave. He'd been wrong. He'd been too scared to talk about _them_ , and this was the result. _Breathe. Just breathe._ But his heart felt tight and his chest was full of lead, and even breathing was hard. He focused his energy on just that for a while. That, and suppressing images of Dorian being _with_ others while Cullen wasn't available. Those were hard thoughts, and he shook his head trying to dispel them. 

_Run. You can run._

And he wanted to. He'd been mistaken. He'd put himself out there and he'd been wrong. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to escape the gaze of those grey eyes, to tuck tail and hide to lick his wounds. He wanted to go back to his apartment and take off this fucking _costume_ of someone he'd never be and curl up in bed until he had to go to work. If he even went. Cullen's mind collapsed into itself and centered around the one word - run - until he felt himself actually stepping away.

_Stop fucking running and deal with this._

That was a new voice. It drowned out the panic for a moment and allowed him to think. There were those, he knew, who could divorce sex from emotion. Cullen never could, he didn't understand it, which is why he felt so… betrayed right now. From Dorian's perspective… there wasn't a problem, clearly. He said nothing had happened since the relationship conversation, and Cullen believed him.

But Maker, this still _hurt._

His eyes never left the ground as he finally replied in a heavy voice, “I hear you.” He wanted Dorian to know he at least understood what he was saying. “I hear you, but I need some time. I can't… I don't know what to say.”

He wasn't running, but he couldn't make sense of what he was feeling. He was trying to buy some time to think.

\----

And this is why Dorian didn’t want to talk about things like this. This was why Dorian was bad at relationships. It was why he never _bothered,_ because he knew it would never work. Why did he think it would this time? Except that he _wanted it to._ He’d never wanted it like he wanted it now.

“We can... we can go,” he offered and gestured to the road, “if you still want to.” Not that they’d be doing what Dorian had hoped for the rest of the night, but it would be better than leaving it here. Or, at least, just walking away.

\----

There were two distinct urges in Cullen's head now, battling for control. One wanted desperately to get away, to create distance and wallow alone like he always did. _I told you. Didn't I tell you?_ that voice said. The other, though, didn't want to hurt alone anymore. It wanted to work through the storm of feelings and come out on the other side. It wanted to seek comfort while doing so. It wanted to curl around Dorian until the hurt went away. Or at least talk to him.

Did any of this change what they were now? That was the question he needed to answer for himself. He didn't know if he could do that in Dorian’s presence.

_I think I need to be alone._ The words were queued up, ready to be spoken, but Cullen met Dorian's gaze then and saw something familiar on his face. Was this hurting him, too?

“Yes,” he nodded, “Let's just go.” They could talk more comfortably, and it wouldn't feel like something had ended. Not yet.

\----

He nodded and rubbed his hands together before he reached one out in a silent offer for Cullen’s. Dorian wasn’t going to push too hard, considering, but he also wasn’t going to act like he’d done something wrong. They’d had a miscommunication, that was all. People had them all the time and it wasn’t a dealbreaker.”We can walk for a bit and get a cab,” Dorian prompted gently, “I need a bit of air.”

\----

For the first time in months, Cullen didn't take that hand. He felt too raw around the edges right now. Too much like he could be swept away before he really sorted through this, and then where would he be? In the same place, living with doubt. He wasn't running off by himself for once, but he couldn't let himself fall into Dorian now.

He crammed his hands in his pockets as they started walking. It was quiet, save for the noise of the road, and not in a comfortable sort of way. Cullen's mind was racing, trying to think of what he could or should possibly say. To know that, he'd have to answer that question first. _Did this change anything now?_

It did, but only in that it awakened every insecurity, every thought that maybe Dorian deserved more than Cullen, that maybe Cullen just wasn't enough and why did he ever think he could be? On some level, Cullen understood that all that was a product of his mind. He thought then about what _he_ wanted, trying to ignore the deprecative thoughts even as they worked to tear him down.

What he _wanted_ was walking next to him in silence. What he _wanted_ was to hold on to that happiness they'd built from nothing. To find a way forward, even though he was hurting. It all came back to wanting to try.

The path forward was hard for Cullen. It meant honesty. It meant confronting his feelings, sharing them with Dorian and trusting that however Dorian responded was the truth. And there it was - could he be open and, more importantly, could he trust?

Cullen paused then. He could. He had to, or he'd surely lose what he gained. One way or the other, he'd lose Dorian.

“We weren't on the same page,” Cullen tentatively began, “And… that was probably my fault.” He coughed. Maker, this was hard. How did he ever navigate this before? “I… I knew how I felt a long time ago, but I never said anything.” He took a breath and stole a glance at Dorian, “I never said anything because I thought if I did, it would be over. You'd wake up and realize I wasn't… what you wanted. That can't… it can't happen again. So I want to be clear now.” He took a moment to gather himself before continuing, “I… you are so important to me. So it hurt, it hurts, to think you were with someone else. And I _know_ we didn't define anything. I'm not blaming you. I'm telling you how I feel because that's all I can do.” He knew he was turning red, could feel the heat in his face. He was going on and on, unsure if Dorian was following. “It hurts, but it doesn't change how I feel about you. I don't want to run. Maker, does this make any sense?”

\----

When they stopped, Dorian tucked his hands in his pockets. He was half expecting anger, dismissiveness, something. Not... explanation. Clearly, he and Cullen had different ideas about what constituted a relationship. That was obvious. Maybe they should have set some parameters before, way before, but why would they have? Dorian would have never thought to do that. Maybe Cullen had, but hadn’t said anything.

“It does,” he agreed after a moment, and it did. It would make sense that someone would be upset to know that their lover was with someone else when they were being monogamous. That wasn’t something Dorian felt, but he could understand where Cullen was coming from. He took a breath and reached out to touch Cullen’s arm, “It does make sense,” Dorian went on, “but I’ve never been with someone who views sex as something important. Arguably, that’s the easiest part. This... what we’re doing right now with the talking and the getting closer and getting to know each other, that doesn’t happen with anyone else. That’s what was important to me. So... it’s cliche to say ‘they didn’t matter’ and I know that, but it’s true.”

Dorian let his hand drop and he took a breath, “You’re important to me,” he offered, “which is why I asked to make this something official _after_ we started to get to know each other and all that. And it’s why I put an end to it. I might not, you know, equate sex with something _intimate_ like you do, but it’s not so separate that I would ever cheat on you and say it’s because ‘it doesn’t matter’ because it does. It just…” He shrugged. Now he was talking too much. “And you being hurt by it or thinking differently doesn’t change anything for me either, hm? We’re on the same page now, and that’s what counts.”

\----

As Dorian spoke, Cullen's face crumpled. This was, surprisingly, harder to hear than the fact that he'd been with other people. Things made sense now. The little comments he'd made, things Dagna or Sera had said, they were all more clear now. _It's not important to him._

Not that sex was the most important aspect of a relationship to Cullen, but it was… an expression of emotion. There were the baser feelings of want, desire and, yes, lust, but below that was always a _deeper_ feeling. A connection. Six years ago, none of this would have happened - he'd have had this conversation before the first time. He remembered now that part of him had wanted to talk about it, to understand where they stood and make sure they were on the same page, but he'd gone ahead. He'd gone ahead and let it keep going.

_It's not important._

The thought that he was interchangeable where Dorian's bed was concerned crossed his mind. It could be any of his… friends… and he'd be just as fulfilled. Maybe more so. How long until he was bored with _just_ Cullen in that regard? Or was Cullen trapping him with his expectations of being the only one?

_No. No, you said you'd trust him, took what he said as truth._

_But it doesn't have to be you, does it? Isn't that what he's saying?_

Cullen clenched and unclenched his fists a few times as his mind worked. He'd have to let this go if there was going to be anything more.

He wasn't great at letting things go.

“It doesn't have to be me,” he muttered, more to himself than to Dorian and pursed his lips when he realized he'd said it out loud.

\----

Maker help him. There was a very good chance Dorian was going to go back and punch Frederic right where it mattered most for what his negligence did. Things were... uneasy. Cullen had issues with being in a relationship again, Dorian was able to understand that, and Dorian was really uneasy about putting himself in that situation at all. This kind of transparency terrified him, especially because there was no anticipating what was going to set Cullen off into being upset. Dorian was being honest, as open as he could possibly be, and there was a chance it wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be sweet enough or emotional enough or...  _enough_ enough.

He took a breath then and stopped. The wind and the air was warm. They looked amazing. It should have been the perfect night. Should have been. It wasn’t. It was the polar opposite. “Listen to me, alright?” Dorian prompted, “I care about you. I care about us being together in ways I’ve never been with anyone else. I’m sorry that our ideas about sex are different, yes? But the fact that I slept with someone else doesn’t mean I wanted to _be_ with _you_ any less.”  Something hot and angry spiked through him. Something... hurt.

“You’re the person that I want, and I’m doing as right by you as I can,” Dorian went on and lifted a hand to poke Cullen in the chest, “and if that’s not enough for you, then I don’t know what else to do.” He was trying. He’d done what he felt was right, and to almost be punished for it seemed wrong. Felt wrong. Made _him_ feel wrong. “I’m trying. More than I’ve ever tried,” he started again, but trailed off before he sighed and shook his head.

\----

That poke to the chest pulled Cullen out of himself. His eyes were locked on Dorian, eyebrows raised. He’d done it again. He’d slipped into that state of mind he’d used for so long to protect himself, only considering how he hurt and what he needed to not hurt any more. For all the decisions he’d made to trust, he’d still worked himself so far down into how he felt, buried himself in his own hurt that he was blind to what Dorian was going through. It wasn’t fair. It was selfish.

He couldn’t do that, especially since what would make this not hurt any more was standing in front of him… angry and, if he read that face right, hurting, too. Because of Cullen… because Cullen hadn’t been clear in the beginning and because he still allowed anxiety to rule over him. Even now. Even now, he realized that there was still a part of him that never fully gave in out of self-serving fear 

He had to let go. He had to let all of that go because he wasn’t ready to let Dorian go.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen replied, voice hoarse. Dorian had no way of knowing what he was really apologizing for, but he continued, “It’s enough, Dorian. It’s more than enough and I'm sorry.”

\----

“Is it actually, though?” Dorian asked more harshly than he expected. It just... came out. “Are you going to be able to square with the fact that I’m not... sweet or _intimate_ enough? For you?” he demanded, “that even though I love having you in my bed that it’s not the ultimate expression of... I don’t know, affection? Even though I was under the impression that staying with you while you _broke down_ on my couch _twice_ was pretty fucking intimate? That... being there afterward and getting into bed and _not_ having sex was somehow more important?”

It had all been so much. So much that he’d given, presumably without being asked, and yet this was still what upset the other man. “Don’t apologize,” Dorian told him, “just... don’t. I can’t feel like I’m forcing your hand about this when it’s actually really important.”

\----

The words shot from Dorian's mouth and hit him like bullets. Each one hurt. Each one stung from the truth they carried, and by the time Dorian finished, Cullen felt like he'd hung a weight around his neck. Everything felt so heavy, so fucking wrong.

Maybe… maybe this whole thing _was_ wrong. That apology was supposed to _fix it_ , but all he'd done was make it worse. He was walking on thin ice; he could hear it cracking under his weight. It would collapse at any moment, taking him under into the cold water he'd stayed above for the past year. He'd thought they were too different at first. Maybe they were. Maybe he'd latched on to the first person to show him kindness in years, and refused to see past that.

He felt his mind disconnecting, breaking ties and telling him to run. Run now before it got worse. Run now before he could fully self destruct.

But then he thought of Dorian's words, harsh as they were. He'd been there when Cullen had lost it. He'd been there, and more importantly he had taken care of him. And then Dorian had shared bits of his past, trusting him with something he didn't let others see. Cullen thought of the days they'd spent, images spooling through his mind of being curled up together on the couch or in the bed, just enjoying each other’s presence. He thought of all the little things Dorian did - the drinks he'd bring him when he played, the shelf he'd cleared in his closet, the fucking little candies he left out for him. _None_ of that was for Dorian. It was all for Cullen. Those things were how Dorian showed he cared, and there were so _many_ of them now that Cullen was looking. Yet here he was, hung up over what happened _before_ they’d declared anything.

All those little signs of care, of affection, were to make sure Cullen was comfortable. Dorian had progressed at Cullen's pace - _I'm not taking advantage of you. I'll be as gentle as you need me to be._ Cullen had been driving this whole time. No, not even that was right. Cullen had been letting his _fear_ drive them this whole time, even as he thought he'd been controlling it.

The magnitude of his selfishness surprised him, took his breath away. He'd been taking, giving precious little back in return. He was a user, though this time what he was using wasn't something he snorted or injected. This time, what he'd been using was Dorian, relying on him to make everything better without really trying to understand the man or sparing a thought about what he could do for him.

“Oh, I've been a fool,” he said wearily as he dug the heel of his palms into his eyes. He bit his lip to stop its trembling. Dorian wasn't looking for an apology. What could he offer now?

_The truth_.

“Every day,” he began, fighting to find the words, “ _Every_ day is a challenge. It's better now than before, but it's still there. The fear that everything will just fall apart again.” He swallowed hard so he could continue. “I let it control me for so long… It's second nature to look for signs...  warnings that this would break the ice I'm walking on.” He took a hitching breath. His voice was unsteady to his ears, a reflection of his heart.

“You're right. Of course you're right. You give me so much, and all I do is… fixate on my own fear. I look everywhere for proof that I can't be happy. That it isn't meant for me. Even now, I’m doing it.” He crossed an arm over his chest, gripping the other at the elbow in a vice. Amber eyes examined the cracks in the sidewalk. He couldn't even look at Dorian, not now. “It's a… defense, yes, but it's selfish. I'm just now learning that. I told you, I'm a mess, but I thought I could… I thought I could sweep the mess into a pile and... make it a whole... somehow.”

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “To answer your question, I don't know. I think I can. I think so. I've been happy, happier than I thought I had any _right_ to be. Which is probably why tonight, that guy, _this_ \- it got to me. I'm trying to find my footing, Dorian.” Now he did meet those grey eyes, “You're trying, it's clear, but Maker help me, _I'm trying, too._ And not because you're forcing my hand or anything like that. Because _I_ want to be better. I want to be better to you. For you. You've worked your way into me, and I don't…” his teeth clenched then, trying to control the emotion rolling below the surface, “I don't want to let go of that. Not because of my fear.”

And there it was. He'd laid out his issues as clearly as he could. He'd told Dorian what he wanted. He waited to hear if that would be enough.

\----

Well, that was more than he actually expected after an outburst like that. Dorian never really anticipated anyone sticking around after a few bumps, especially ones that included someone calling into question their ability to handle something. Maker knew Dorian might have stalked away were the situations reversed. That said, he was glad to hear something like that. It was nice to know that at least what he was doing was acknowledged, appreciated, and maybe understood. It wasn’t in the same way Cullen felt those things, but it was something. Something was better than Cullen staring at him and wondering what in the Void Dorian was saying.

He took a few breaths to ease how his heart was pounding against his chest. His head hurt. He wanted a bottle of something that would ease the fact that he’d just exposed a part of him to someone he cared for _in the middle of the street._ That wasn’t going to happen, not now anyway, and if this was going to be resolved, then it needed to be dealt with now. Not after three days of drinking himself stupid, but now.  Dorian looked down at his hands, clenched and relaxed them, and straightened himself a little.

“Okay,” he answered after a long moment. It was all he had the will to say and all he really needed to say. Dorian reached out a hand, not in offer for the other man to take it, and laced his fingers with Cullen’s. He squeezed and brushed his thumb along the side of Cullen’s fingers, then nodded toward the road, “let’s get out of here then, hm?”

\----

That was… hardly what Cullen had expected after laying everything out like that. Just… ok. Ok and let's go. He was reeling from the highs and lows of the evening, heart pounding for how much of himself he'd laid out there, but what he got was “ok.” It was... sad. It was disappointing. Maybe Dorian was tired of talking about it. It felt unsettled, but he wouldn't press for more right now. He was exhausted and drained, too tired to keep it up even if Dorian had wanted to.

He nodded and waited with Dorian for a cab. He listened as Dorian gave his address to the driver, and then sat in silence for a while, watching the street lights pass by from his window. Cullen didn't know what to say to “ok.” He didn't know what to do, other than continue to hold the hand that was still holding his.

\----

While they rode Dorian leaned over and kissed Cullen’s shoulder before he tipped his chin up and kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes, nuzzled his face into the other man’s temple, and squeezed his hand. “If you think I’d _let_ us end this,” he murmured into Cullen’s ear so only he could hear it, “I wouldn’t, alright?” Fragile though it was, new and maybe filled with cracks from omission or fear, it was important. Cullen was important to him, more important than anyone else, and maybe the fact that things hadn’t (he hoped) shattered was a very good sign. “I want _you_ ,” he went on softly, “fear and selfishness and all of it. I want to figure out how to make it all work if you do, too. You’re too important to me to let go of.”

\----

At those words, a great tension released in Cullen's chest and he found he could breathe again. He closed his eyes and turned his head to press his forehead against Dorian's, raising a hand to grip the back of the man's neck. He didn't speak for a long moment, the way his mouth was twisting, he knew his voice would be choked. The emotion that coursed through him was an odd mixture of relief and happiness and yes, a little shame that he was depending on Dorian to make it better again. Still, Dorian was accepting him, the good and the bad… and the very bad, so he took a while to let the happiness settle back into his heart.

“I'm…,” he all but croaked for how thick his voice was, “Maker, it's the same with me. We can… we'll find a way.”

\----

Dorian nodded and tipped his chin up to kiss Cullen’s forehead, “it’ll be alright,” he promised. And it would be. Odds were good it wouldn’t necessarily be comfortable all the time, tonight was a good indication of that, but it would be alright. “I’m sorry that we had to have this out like this,” Dorian went on, “I’ve never had to be clear about my expectations, or lack thereof, and I should have been more open with you. And I’m sorry that I hurt you.” He offered a small smile then, “but thank you for actually listening to me and not just... storming off and being angry. That means a lot to me.”

\----

“You don't have to… I share some of that, you know. I was just as… as unclear. And I'm sorry for that,” he pulled away to meet Dorian's eyes, “I meant what I said. I want to be better. I think you did that… made me want that…”

He laid his head on Dorian's shoulder, snuggling in as best he could in the backseat of a cab as he locked his fingers in with Dorian's again. “I'm sorry your evening was ruined.”

\----

“Not so much,” he chuckled and kissed those soft curls, “and we can always try for a redo if you want.” Both arms wound around Cullen’s shoulders and Dorian buried his face in that gorgeous hair, “you’re here. That’s proof enough it’s not ruined.”

\----

Cullen chuckled then, the first real laugh since that Frederic had slid up to spectacularly derail everything. “Whoever put the idea into your head that you aren't sweet was wrong. You're practically dripping,” Cullen leaned up to kiss Dorian's cheek, “I like it,” he murmured.

\----

Once they got back to Dorian’s, he got them upstairs and helped Cullen out of his tie, jacket, and vest. He leaned in and kissed him, not the deep and heated kind of kiss like at the gallery, but something warm. One hand smoothed along his arm and Dorian smiled against those warm lips, “Thank you for coming tonight,” he murmured.

\----

Cullen returned that kiss as he wound his arms around Dorian's waist. He kept it gentle and slow, full of feeling. Right now, he just wanted to feel the warmth of having Dorian in his arms. That was all he needed. He winced a bit when Dorian actually _thanked_ him for coming… even after how things went… but he smiled and nodded. “Thank you for having me, such as I am.”

His eye caught the dish of candies on Dorian's counter then, and his face softened. This evening hadn't gone anywhere he thought it would. Based on how they were in that alcove in the gallery, he'd assumed that by now, they'd be fumbling at buckles and buttons and falling into bed together. But this… this was ok, too. They'd learned a bit about each other tonight, and Cullen had learned a lot about himself. Painful as it was, they'd somehow managed to end up here, holding each other and still _wanting_ each other. There was something to be said about that.

\----

“Come on,” Dorian chuckled, “let’s get these suits hung up and and we’ll contemplate something a little less... formal?” He lifted a hand and cupped Cullen’s cheek so he could kiss him again, “I’m seeing pajamas and maybe you without a shirt?”

\----

 A soft laugh escaped Cullen's lips at that. It wasn't obscenely late yet, but Cullen was exhausted after all that, and not just the… the argument. He wasn't sure if that's what it was, but that seemed as good a word as any. No, it wasn't just that, it was the whole evening… surprisingly pleasant as it was at first, being on in a group of strangers was draining. Pajamas, shirt or no, and a warm blanket and a warmer body in his arms seemed like heaven right about now.

“I'm agreeable to that,” he grinned and grabbed Dorian's hand, collecting his jacket, vest and tie, and headed to the bedroom. Once there, he helped Dorian out of his own jacket and tie, unable to resist the urge to kiss him again, as gently as before, as he loosened that knot and pulled the strip of fabric from around Dorian's neck.

\----

It didn’t take long for them to get changed into something comfortable, despite every five seconds having to stop so they could kiss or touch, and Dorian tugged Cullen down to the bed. It wasn’t needy or rough or anything more than something warm, and Dorian wound his arms around Cullen’s waist as they got comfortable. “Come here,” he chuckled and pulled other man in closer, “have I mentioned how gorgeous you are with your hair pulled back like that in just those pajama bottoms?”

\----

“No. No, I can't say as you have,” Cullen laughed as kissed Dorian's forehead, “I'm surprised you haven't snatched the tie back, actually.” This was good. This was comfortable, warm. This was exactly what Cullen needed to soothe raw nerves and smooth over the rough bits left from the events of that evening. He held Dorian a bit more tightly as he just breathed him in.

\----

He resettled them both so Cullen’s head was on his shoulder and Dorian’s fingers dug into the knotted muscles of the other man’s shoulders and the back of his neck. Everything hurt from his head to his feet from those shoes. Still, this made it better. It always did. He pressed kisses along Cullen’s forehead and along his hairline.

It was a good way to drift off and after the night they had, and Dorian had every expectation to wake up and at least try to make the rest of the weekend easier on them both. They could sleep a little easier, more closely, and Dorian curled in closer as he slept. Sometimes he would mumble into those soft curls as they moved together, and it wasn’t long before they slept in a nest of blankets with Dorian curled up at Cullen’s back with his arm resting around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS HARD TO WRITE, even if the conflict was short-lived. A taste of things to come, I should say. 
> 
> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	16. Inopportune Time [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which increasing demands at work mean Dorian and Cullen have less and less time together.

_[Dorian (3:35PM)]: hey handsome ;) think we could grab coffee a bit later today? Josie wants to see me_

_[Cullen (3:37PM)]: Hey yourself. How later is later?_

_[Dorian (3:39PM)]: an hour maybe? not too long_

_[Cullen (3:42PM)]: That should be ok. It’ll be good to see you._

_[Dorian (3:44PM)]: of course it will ;p_

_[Dorian (3:45PM)]: also u should stay tonight_

_[Cullen (3:45PM)]: … so humble._

_[Cullen (3:46PM)]: We’ll see, won’t we._

_[Dorian (3:46PM)]: rude_

_[Cullen (3:48PM)]: Oh, sorry. I forgot the little smiley face that says I’m joking. :P_

_[Dorian (3:51PM)]: u can make it up to me later_

_[Cullen (3:53PM)]: I’ll do my best. See you tonight._

_[Cullen (5:13PM)]: I’m so sorry. I’m going to have to make it up to you much later._

_[Cullen (5:14PM)]: Garrett’s sick. They just called me in to cover._

_[Cullen (5:14PM)]: Tomorrow?_

_[Dorian (5:20PM)]: i demand recompense in the form of home cooked food_

_[Dorian (5:20PM)]: but yes go work_

_[Dorian (5:21PM)]: though bed will be terribly cold without u_

_[Cullen (5:21PM)]: Of course. Pancakes at 2 am, my specialty._

_[Cullen (5:23PM)]: But I will miss you tonight. It’s been a while. Sorry again._

_[Dorian (5:27PM)]: send me a message when u get home so i know u made it back okay hm?_

_[Cullen (5:29PM)]: And disturb your beauty sleep?_

_[Cullen (5:31PM)]: It’ll be very late. But I will. Thanks for understanding._

_[Dorian (5:35PM)]: try not to have too much fun_

_[Cullen (5:36PM)]: Considering what I’m missing… I doubt that will be a problem._

_\----- A week later -----_

_[Dorian (9:30AM)]: u arent going to believe this_

_[Cullen (9:33AM)]: Try me._

_[Dorian (9:36AM)]: the uni of Orlais wants to partner with the auction house on a big collection of Nevarran mortalitasi pieces_

_[Dorian (9:37AM)]: Divine Age stuff_

_[Dorian (9:37AM)]: and leliana and josie want me to be the liason_

_[Cullen (9:39AM)]: Oh, wow. I’m assuming that’s… good?_

_[Cullen (9:39AM)]: Right?_

_[Dorian (9:43AM)]: I'll essentially be running the whole thing_

_[Dorian (9:44AM)]: theyre bringing in buyers from everywhere, including Nevarra and Tevinter, and they know that was kinda my focus at school_

_[Dorian (9:44AM)]: i did my thesis on Necropoli artistry_

_[Dorian (9:45AM)]: but thats five times what im doing now_

_[Cullen (9:48AM)]: But you’re amazing at what you do and they know that._

_[Cullen (9:49AM)]: Congratulations, seriously. You’ll be great._

_[Dorian (9:54AM)]: Ill be busy_

_[Dorian (9:55AM)]: I kind of want to say no because thats a LOT of work_

_[Dorian (9:56AM)]: but that doesn't look good does it?_

_[Cullen (10:01AM)]: I guess it’s less about what it looks like and more about what you can handle._

_[Cullen (10:02AM)]: It does sound like a good opportunity for you._

_[Dorian (10:04AM)]: they want an answer by tomorrow_

_[Cullen (10:06AM)]: Not much room to think, huh?_

_[Dorian (10:08AM)]: no and I already have a dr appt this afternoon which might help some but it kind of eats the rest of the day_

_[Cullen (10:09AM)]: Ugh. Yeah, I’m sorry._

_[Cullen (10:15AM)]: I guess I’d be asking myself if I would be happy doing what I’m doing or if I wanted more eventually._

_[Dorian (10:18AM)]: I mean i do i just never thought it would happen now_

_[Cullen (10:20AM)]: They see something in you._

_[Cullen (10:21AM)]: I mean, I do, too. But that’s obvious._

_[Dorian (10:22AM)]: Im taking a long lunch to think about it ouside the office_

_[Dorian (10:22AM)]: it started feeling too close_

_[Cullen (10:23AM)]: Good idea._

_[Dorian (10:26AM)]: hows work?_

_[Cullen (10:29AM)]: Busy. Since I covered for Garrett that one time, he’s seen his chance to get more days off._

_[Cullen (10:31AM)]: If I knew a smiley face that showed extreme annoyance, I’d use that here._

_[Dorian (10:33AM)]: uh oh_

_[Cullen (10:35AM)]: No. It’s good. Just more._

_[Dorian (10:38AM)]: care to carve out some time tomorrow afternoon maybe?_

_[Dorian (10:39AM)]: or when u can?_

_[Cullen (10:41AM)]: Maker, I’d love to. But I have to be there from 6 until we’re done._

_[Cullen (10:42AM)]: No idea when that will be._

_[Cullen (10:42AM)]: How late is too late?_

_[Dorian (10:48AM)]: remind me the next time we see each other to just give u a key to my place_

_[Dorian (10:49AM)]: then u can at least come over after and not have to go all the way home_

_[Cullen (10:53AM)]: I can do that._

_[Cullen (10:54AM)]: Though that’s a lot of responsibility._

_[Cullen (10:55AM)]: I could literally drop in at any hour._

_[Dorian (10:58AM)]: u say that like its bad_

_[Dorian (11:01AM)]: its fine_

_[Cullen (11:02AM)]: It has the potential to at least be annoying_

_[Cullen (11:02AM)]: :P_

_[Dorian (11:04AM)]: Better than trying to coordinate though_

_[Dorian (11:04AM)]: seriously its good_

_[Dorian (11:05AM)]: i want u to be able to come over whenever_

_[Cullen (11:06AM)]: That makes two of us._

_[Cullen (11:06AM)]: I sleep better there._

_[Cullen (11:07AM)]: For some reason…._

_[Dorian (11:09AM)]: hm wonder why that could be_

_[Dorian (11:09AM)]: ;)_

_[Cullen (11:11AM)]: I think it’s the sheets_

_[Cullen (11:11AM)]: But really… how late is too late?_

_[Cullen (11:12AM)]: Because I really would like to see you while you’re conscious._

_[Dorian (11:15AM)]: thats what mornings are for_

_[Cullen (11:16AM)]: Fair point_

_[Dorian (11:18AM)]: and if ur so late its early u can just bring breakfast and coffee_

_[Dorian (11:19AM)]: i wont complain_

_[Cullen (11:21AM)]: I’ll text you when we’re done and see if you still feel the same._

_[Cullen (11:22AM)]: If you don’t respond, I’ll assume you’re asleep and head to mine. No worries._

_[Cullen (11:22AM)]: Until I get that key, anyway._

_[Dorian (11:24AM)]: soon_

_[Dorian (11:25AM)]: and thanks for letting me rant about that work stuff_

_[Cullen (11:27AM)]: Oh, anytime_

_[Cullen (11:30AM)]: Pretty sure it’s part of my job description_

_[Dorian (11:31AM)]: im going to take it i just needed to kind of talk it out_

_[Cullen (11:33AM)]: You should. You’re talented and I know you can handle it._

_[Cullen (11:34AM)]: But clearly whatever you decide. I’m not trying to push one way or the other._

_[Dorian (11:36AM)]: no i know ill take it just_

_[Dorian (11:37AM)]: you know_

_[Dorian (11:40AM)]: freaking out a little_

_[Cullen (11:43AM)]: Would it help if I crashed your long lunch for a few minutes at least?_

_[Cullen (11:44AM)]: I could very quickly put on pants…_

_[Dorian (11:46AM)]: and here i was wondering what u were wearing_

_[Dorian (11:47AM)]: mmm mental image of no pants or the real thing_

_[Dorian (11:48AM)]: yes come. i can extend my lunch out a while and i want to see u_

_[Cullen (11:49AM)]: Fair warning - I won’t be very pretty._

_[Dorian (11:51AM)]: lies_

_[Dorian (11:51AM)]: ur always beautiful_

_[Cullen (11:53AM)]: That’s debatable, but thank you._

_[Cullen (11:54AM)]: Where are you?_

_[Dorian (11:57AM)]: how about that same cafe we had coffee at the first time?_

_[Cullen (11:59AM)]: That works. Let me get dressed and I’ll be out the door in a few._

_[Dorian (12:02PM)]: looking forward to it_

_[Cullen (12:15PM)]: On my way!_

_[Cullen (2:02AM)]: Just wrapped. Considering it’s 2am on a work night, I’m going to assume you’re asleep already. Thought I’d try, though._

_[Dorian (2:03AM)]: ud be wrong_

_[Dorian (2:04AM)]: come over_

_[Dorian (2:04AM)]: im up working anyway_

_[Cullen (2:06AM)]: I would say that I don’t want to get in the way of that, but I miss you too much to try and be nice. I’m on my way._

_[Dorian (2:09AM)]: if u can bring food please do theres nothing much here_

_[Cullen (2:11AM)]: Correction, I’m on my way with food._

_[Dorian (2:12AM)]: u are a prince_

_[Cullen (2:13AM)]: Only for you._

_\----- A few days later ------_

_[Dorian (10:34AM)]: i have to be an asshole and cancel on u tonight_

_[Dorian (10:35AM)]: one of the buyers is flying in and i have to go meet him_

_[Cullen (10:39AM)]: You’re not an asshole._

_[Cullen (10:41AM)]: Go do your job, you. When’s the next time you’re free, though?_

_[Dorian (10:42AM)]: i wont be out too late_

_[Dorian (10:43AM)]: are u working tonight?_

_[Dorian (10:44AM)]: later i mean_

_[Dorian (10:46AM)]: u can just meet me at mine otherwise_

_[Cullen (10:48AM)]: I could do that. I have to go in early-ish tomorrow, though. For me._

_[Dorian (10:49AM)]: u up at a normal hour?_

_[Dorian (10:50AM)]: scandalous_

_[Cullen (10:53AM)]: I know. The void may actually freeze over._

_[Dorian (10:57AM)]: its a work dinner so not out too late_

_[Dorian (10:58AM)]: cant get the academics too drunk or they start ranting about how things were better in the Dark Ages and ive too much of a headache for that_

_[Cullen (11:03AM)]: Sounds delightful_

_[Cullen (11:05AM)]: Let me know when you’re done_

_[Dorian (11:09)]: i will_

_[Dorian (11:10AM)]: ready to see u though_

_[Cullen (11:12AM)]: Same. I’ll suffer through a few more Dorian-less hours than originally planned, though._

_[Dorian (11:13AM)]: ill make it up to u_

_[Dorian (11:13AM)]: promise_

_[Cullen (11:16AM)]: I look forward to it._

_[Cullen (11:17AM)]: Greatly._

_\----- A few more days later -----_

_[Dorian (1:35PM)]: so coffee this afternoon?_

_[Cullen (1:39PM)]: Ugh. Last minute booking. I’m sorry._

_[Cullen (1:41PM)]: Dinner, though?_

_[Dorian (1:43PM)]: one of these days im bringing coffee to the studio_

_[Dorian (1:44PM)]: dinner_

_[Cullen (1:45PM)]: I’ll probably be out by 7 or so._

_[Cullen (1:46PM)]: And coffee would be amazing. The stuff we have in the break room is not coffee._

_[Cullen (1:47PM)]: I don’t care what Garrett says._

_[Dorian (1:52PM)]: i might make an appearance then_

_[Dorian (1:53PM)]: itll do me well to stay late anyway_

_[Dorian (1:55PM)]: pieces are coming in and its a nightmare_

_[Cullen (1:57PM)]: uh oh_

_[Cullen (6:35PM)]: And the fucking board broke and it took forever to fix. Guess who has to stay because the artist wants their full studio time?_

_[Cullen (6:36PM)]: All of us. I’m sorry._

_[Cullen (6:37PM)]: Don’t wait for me for dinner._

_[Dorian (6:40PM)]: i can bring u something if u want_

_[Dorian (6:41PM)]: maybe a quick kiss?_

_[Dorian (6:43PM)]: say ur going out for a cigarette break?_

_[Cullen (6:46PM)]: I’m honestly torn between “yes, please” and “I wouldn’t want to drag you out here just for a quick break.”_

_[Cullen (6:47PM)]: But… yes, please._

_[Dorian (6:50PM)]: done_

_[Dorian (6:52PM)]: full meal and something (not booze) good to drink_

 

Dorian had made good on his promise. He’d stopped at a steakhouse on the way to the studio and picked Cullen up a delicious meal of steak, baked potato, three vegetables, and a small container of cheesecake. Of course he had to get the cheesecake. He’d also been good and grabbed a big bottle of lemonade. They couldn’t eat together like Dorian wanted, but this would do. A kiss and a quiet moment would do for now.

Their time had been so limited with work and being busy, and Dorian hated it. He’d never hated it in the past, but he hated it now. He hated that he missed Cullen when they had to cancel and that he had to go to bed alone. Any other time, long before this, Dorian would have been thrilled. Having people take up his time, other than the expressly short time he was willing to give, used to be annoying. Now he was bringing the man dinner.

He took a breath as he opened the door to the studio and smiled at the receptionist, “I’m here to see Cullen Rutherford,” Dorian told him, then flicked open his phone for a moment.

_[Send Message: Cullen (8:35PM)]: Here. brought food and a kiss_

\----

Cullen felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and winced before the inevitable, “And just _who_ has their phone in the fucking booth?”

“Shit, Garrett, I'm sorry,” Cullen groaned, raising his hands over his guitar in supplication.

“Aaahhh, it's ok. Bela was flat anyway…” Garrett teased.

“That's not what you said…” the Rivaini began with an arched eyebrow.

“Yes, yes…. Last night. I know,” Garrett returned. “Let's break here. And Bela… tune your bass, for Maker's sake.”

Cullen laughed as he put his guitar on its stand and made his way to the door. The little back and forth between Garrett and Isabela was amusing, if all for show. It kept things interesting, at least. He made his way down the hall toward the little front lobby where Dorian was waiting. _I can't believe I took my phone in the booth. Rookie mistake..._

But he'd just been so excited. Excited to see Dorian for the length of time it took to smoke a cigarette and say hello. Between the increasing demands on both of them, the past weeks had been… disappointing. It seemed like all they ever did anymore was reschedule and squeeze in a few minutes here and there. It hurt a bit, to be honest, though there was nothing for it. Nothing for it but to make the most of the time they did have.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Cullen sighed as he looped his arm around Dorian's waist and kissed his cheek in greeting. “I'm glad you came.”

\----

Dorian smiled and leaned into that strong form. In an instant his body relaxed tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto, and Dorian turned to nuzzle his face in against the other man’s neck. He just breathed in that smell of Cullen’s skin and let it ease the shakiness in his chest. “I couldn’t deprive you of my presence,” he teased and tipped his chin up for a kiss. The hand not holding the bag of food lifted to wind his arm around Cullen’s neck.

He’d missed him.

“And I needed to see you too,” he went on and smiled, “even for five minutes.”

\----

“Then you're in luck because you have me for 15,” he said, trying not to sound too bitter. It really wouldn't do to be grumpy about their lack of time together during one of the rare occasions when they actually occupied the same space. _Make the most of it…_ “I could do with some air,” Cullen continued, “care to join me outside?”

It was a true enough statement, though what he _really_ could do with was a duck into the little alley next to the studio so he could kiss Dorian properly. Or at least talk to him without suffering the put-upon glares of the intern who was currently sighing heavily and rolling his eyes at them from behind the receptionist desk.

“Whatever you brought me smells delicious, and thank you, by the way… but I'm sure it could wait a bit…?” He remembered his manners then. It was the first time Dorian had visited him at work, after all. “...or, I could take you back so you can meet the band and see where I work, maybe? Either way.”

Secretly, he was rooting for outside and a bit of privacy, but showing off a little had its own merit, too.

\----

That was definitely an interesting choice to make. “I’d hate to interrupt when you guys are trying to catch up,” Dorian pointed out and nodded back toward the door, “maybe next time, hm?” That and he didn’t really want to have awkward silence with people he didn’t know instead of some time with Cullen. Dorian’s nerves had been jangling constantly, what with the work situation, and he just wanted those fifteen minutes with him to talk to someone that wasn’t at all related to what he had to do. He wanted fifteen minutes with just... Cullen.

When they got outside, Dorian smiled and leaned back up to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “I thought bringing you something better than a burger would be appreciated,” he offered, “just make sure you have more than _just_ the dessert, yes?”

\----

“There's dessert? You know me so well,” Cullen chuckled as he grabbed Dorian's hand and led him to a little alcove off the street. It was where he disappeared to go smoke when he needed time alone. People walked right by, not knowing he was there. It was his own little escape when things got to be too much at the studio, or he just needed to think. It would be perfect to steal a few moments alone with Dorian, away from prying eyes.

As he entered his little nook, Cullen turned to face Dorian. “Come here,” he said softly and pulled the man into an embrace, wrapping one arm around Dorian's waist and snaking the other up his back so his fingers could bury themselves in his hair. He tucked his face into Dorian's neck and just _breathed_ for a moment. “I'm sorry. I've… I've just _missed_ you.”

\----

The hug was perfect. Were he not still holding the bag of food, Dorian would have wound both his arms around Cullen as tightly as he could, but for now he wound his free arm back around those broad shoulders to keep the other man close. “I’ve missed you too,” Dorian told him softly and rained kisses along Cullen’s hairline and his forehead as he held him as close as he could. This felt a bit like exquisite torture, the only being able to see Cullen long enough for him to smoke a cigarette, but it was worth it. Every minute was worth it.

He held Cullen for a long moment, pressed kisses to whatever part he could, and slowly moved his hand up to the back of Cullen’s neck to press his fingers into that knot that seemed ever-present at the other man’s hairline. Dorian smiled, buried his face in those blond curls, and sighed happily, “Careful now,” he warned playfully, “or I’ll drag you home for a good night’s sleep and a decent meal before they can steal you back.”

\----

“Mmmmmm… wouldn’t that be nice,” Cullen murmured, closing his eyes and letting the memory of those little kisses linger. He found himself questioning the wisdom of his decision to agree to Dorian’s visit… at least where remaining gainfully employed was concerned. He was sorely tempted to just follow the man back home, even if only to curl up on the couch and watch TV. He just wanted him close.

They hadn’t been close like that for weeks now, at least not in the ‘hours and nights and days just being together’ sort of way, and it was wearing Cullen down. Every text to reschedule or just cancel plans altogether pushed him a little closer to some edge he couldn’t see but could feel. He’d just… he’d grown accustomed to Dorian’s presence, so he was tired and lonely without it when he wasn’t at the studio. The music helped, it always had, but the only thing really seeing him through was that, presumably, things would get better after this business with the university was over.

_And if I’m tired, Dorian must be…_

Cullen pulled away just long enough to grab the bag of takeaway from Dorian and set it carefully on the ground by their feet. He straightened and reached up to cup the man’s face in his hands as amber eyes inspected Dorian’s features. Tired. He looked tired, even as he smiled softly. Concern crossed Cullen’s face as he leaned in for a gentle kiss. “How are you holding up, really? I’ll leave if you really need me to.”

\----

 _Wouldn’t that be nice?_ His thoughts mirrored Cullen’s words perfectly, but he smiled a little and shook his head, “No, you stay and do this job right,” Dorian told him before he leaned up for a kiss. Maker, he was exhausted. Work was insane, which made his home time even more insane while he tried to cram in the other work that wasn’t just the Mortalitasi event, and he was just... mentally and physically wiped out. Having Cullen there, at home to just spend a full night with, would have been great, but Dorian wasn’t about to pull him away from something important for him just to sit on the couch and relax because Dorian wanted him to. He’d never expect Cullen to do that, and he wouldn’t have a double standard.

He kissed Cullen soundly for a long few moments and smoothed his hands along the other man’s arms before they were pressed against the back of his hands, “I’m just glad to see you,” Dorian told him, “and to have a few minutes where all I can think about is finding somewhere even more out of the way so I can have you, because _Maker_ you look gorgeous.” A smirk touched his features, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes for how tired he really was, and Dorian wound his arms around Cullen again, “but you could come back to mine when you finish, even if it’s late. I like it when you sneak into bed with me.”

\----

“... and if it's so late it’s early, I'm to bring breakfast and coffee, am I right?” Cullen laughed softly as he brushed some of that fringe that swept forward at Dorian's temples back into place. “I'll try not to wake you this time. You need to rest,” he paused as he worried his lower lip with his teeth. As much as he loved that he could at least sleep next to Dorian when he wanted, he didn't often for fear that he'd keep the man from much-needed rest. As much as he joked about _taking_ him, looking at Dorian now, Cullen didn't think he had the energy for all that. “... and I'd hate to be the reason you fall asleep in some important meeting.”

\----

That made him chuckle, “I’m fine, hm?” and Dorian rested his cheek against Cullen’s chest for a moment, “so tell me about tonight. They’re keeping you on a short leash?” He was smiling more earnestly now, “I thought someone was keen to take more sick days.”

\----

Cullen sighed as he wrapped his arms back around Dorian. It was a nice moment. Close, warm, and the prospect of having that warmth later, even if only for a few hours before Dorian had to rise, made him feel better. That was something.

“Garrett? It's sort of like that, yeah,” Cullen agreed, “He's been managing the session musicians by himself for a while now. Apparently, he got some ideas when he heard I used to direct.” Cullen laughed. He'd directed high school concert bands, not professional musicians, but Garrett apparently didn't have the luxury of being picky. “It put it in his head that I could help… and it's rather… sink or swim with him, you know?”

In truth, it had been both exciting and terrifying. He was at ease, leading the music and helping it grow with his direction, but it was one more thing that he had to _be there_ for. When he was busking, a bad day meant just that. No one cared if he wasn't on his stool at the train station, and he could hide from the world when he needed to. Now? All that had changed. Sometimes, and he tried not to dwell but that was so _hard_ , it felt like too much too soon. Sometimes, it was just on the sane side of overwhelming.

But this warmth… Dorian... helped calm that down and keep it manageable. He doubted the man even knew he did that for him.

\----

“You’ll do wonderfully,” Dorian promised and leaned up to nuzzle into Cullen’s neck, “you always do.” It was so good to see this transformation in Cullen. He didn’t really know what Cullen had been like before all of the horrible shit in his life, but like this he could imagine. Dorian would have found him just as enchanting as he had on the train platform, he had a feeling, though it was good to have been there for the change too. “Just remember that you do need a _full_ day off every so often,” he pointed out, “the last thing they, or you, need is to burn yourself out because you’re exhausted.”

And if it meant getting to spend a day together, so much the better. Though Dorian understood Cullen’s need for time alone, too. That said, he rather liked their ability be together at home and each doing their own thing: Cullen strumming a bit on his guitar and Dorian working at the counter. They could exist together without having to be ‘on’ constantly, which Dorian appreciated.

\----

“You know, for someone who has a reputation for being, what did you say once… aloof?... you're awfully _nice_.” Cullen laughed and kissed Dorian's forehead. “Snuggly, even.”

His smile fell, though, when he considered the next week. “It's all hands for a few days, maybe the whole week. We've got a solo artist coming in… Merrill. Not sure if you've heard of her. Anyway, she's got a great voice, but damn if she isn't all over the place with scheduling and… everything, really. She's got us for… several days.” He shrugged and added, “Garrett’s saying he's reducing the schedule for a few days after we're done with her, but who knows.”

He straightened so he could meet Dorian's eyes, “But I could say the same to you. When do you get a rest?”

\----

He took a breath and sighed, “Not for a while,” Dorian answered, “the last of the pieces come in tomorrow and then we get to spend the next few days doing everything with that: checking documentation, making sure nothing was terribly rumpled during travel, writing up summaries. Then there’s going to be three nights where the buyers can come in and talk to the Orlesian professors about them all and it’s all a big…” his voice trailed off and Dorian waved a hand. He was already exhausted.

“I understand it’s going to help build a wing in the University of Orlais Library, but it’s actually killing me at the moment, so I don’t much care,” Dorian admitted, “so we’ll both be run completely ragged for a while. Should be _great_.”

\----

Cullen let out a bitter little chuckle at that. “Oh, absolutely. Just _great_.” He smiled then, a real smile, and continued, “As the saying goes, though, ‘this too shall pass.’ You'll come out the other side, _alive,_ and be happy with what you've done.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss against Dorian's lips, letting it linger for as long as he could trust himself to, “... but I would suggest cashing in some vacation time after, if you have it.”

\----

“Maybe I should,” he agreed with a smile after a long moment and took a breath before he leaned up on his toes to kiss Cullen’s forehead, “you should have a cigarette before you go back in, since it sounds like they’ll try to keep you as long as possible.” Dorian smiled then, “I’ll stay with you until you have to head back.”

\----

“Nah, it's ok,” Cullen replied, wrinkling his nose without realizing it. He really didn't like smoking in front of Dorian. Honestly, he really didn't like smoking at all, but it was a crutch, one of the few coping mechanisms he had that wouldn't wreck him or send him back to places he'd rather not revisit. Right now, quitting might be the straw that broke the halla’s back, so he didn't dare. He just didn't care to let Dorian see it. “Besides it'd make you all smelly and we can't have that.”

He did pull his phone out to check the time, though. _Shit. Has it been that long already?_

“... and time's already up,” he sighed heavily, “I don't want to go.”

\----

Shit. Dorian wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. Then again, would he be? He sighed, and it came out sounding more weary than he actually wanted it to, but... he was, after all. “You have to,” Dorian told him and cupped Cullen’s face with both hands so he could kiss him, “so go, before I smuggle you out of here. I’ll see you later anyway.”

 _Though not for as long as I’d like_.

Something in that made that shakiness in his chest grow, but he smiled through it. There wasn’t anything to be done about it that would be constructive, anyway. Dorian had a pile of paperwork waiting for him anyway. “Play good, hm?” he teased, “and play nice with the other kids.”

\----

“I will if they will,” Cullen grumbled. He rested a hand on Dorian's hip and leaned in for another kiss. “Try not to be too alarmed when you wake up with a man in your bed who wasn't there when you went to sleep.”

\----

There was an obvious joke there, but one that would have been in horribly poor taste. Instead, Dorian just chuckled and kissed Cullen back, “Like I mind waking up with you there,” he pointed out, “it’s just a shame I can’t take any more time off.” Though he would have loved to. A day to get everything done would have helped immensely.

“I’ll see you later,” Dorian told him, kissed him one more time, and picked up the bag of food to put in Cullen’s hands, “make sure you eat.” Then he took two steps back and headed for the sidewalk to catch a cab.

\----

It was a little like watching Dorian leave him at the train station every day. Lonely, a bit, and the urge to go with him was there just like back then. Cullen shook his head and took a deep breath as he headed back inside. This wasn't then. He hadn't played for tips in months now, and he had the key to Dorian's in his pocket. He received paychecks on the regular, and didn't have to worry as much about bills or Dorian having to pay for everything. Things were different now. Things were better. That truth didn't relieve much of the heaviness he felt watching Dorian go, however.

Inside, Cullen took advantage of the fact that Garrett was stuck on a phone call to duck into the break room and eat a few bites. He was looking forward to seeing what Dorian had brought him. Just the fact that the man came at all for such a short time made his heart skip a bit, even if he was sad to see him go.

Isabela looked up from the book she was reading when he came in. “Cullen,” she nodded in greeting. As he started unpacking, she wandered over. “Oh, what is that delicious smell?”

“Dinner,” he grinned, and started opening the containers. Steak. Potato. _Three_ different kinds of vegetables. Cheesecake. _How much does Dorian think I can eat?_ He laughed. The man never did anything halfway.

“Oh, I'm staaaaaarving. Is that cheesecake?” Bela commented, eyes wide.

“..... there _might_ be enough to share…. Here, there's a spare set of utensils,” Cullen responded, knowing what she was getting at. She could be cagey and secretive, Cullen had learned, but right now, there was nothing subtle about her.

“You're a doll,” she laughed and sat down, tucking in unceremoniously as Cullen noticed a piece of paper that was left at the bottom of the bag. _Probably the receipt_ , he thought, unfolding it.

Amber eyes widened, then softened as he realized it wasn't a receipt. It wasn't a receipt at all.

_Even though we couldn't go together, I thought you deserved something nice. I'm thinking of you and hope this makes your night a bit better. See you soon. - Dorian_

It was a short note, but the message behind the words written in that flowing script spoke leagues of Dorian's thoughtfulness. Something in Cullen's chest expanded and fluttered as he let his fingers run over the page, tracing the loops in Dorian's flamboyant signature. He flushed and grinned broadly at the little heart that hung off the tail of that last “n.”

“And what, pray tell, is making you go all red and gushy, Rutherford?” Bela asked through a mouthful of potato.

“Oh… just a little something sweet,” he answered sheepishly as he folded the note, creases crisp and exact, and tucked it into his wallet for safekeeping. He started in on his dinner then, his heart an odd mix of light and aching, and hoped the rest of the evening would pass by quickly.

\----

_Only Monday. It’s only fucking Monday._

Dorian was Thursday level tired. The weekend had been almost nonexistent for how many hours he put in at the auction house, and all day had been nothing but phone calls and meetings and more phone calls about meetings, and his head was ringing from the inside out. When he’d gotten home that night he’d turned off the ringer on his phone just so he wouldn’t have to hear it. All he’d wanted was some quiet.

And then there was paperwork: drafts and drafts of summaries, itineraries, buyer lists, guests, and everything in between sat in piles on his counter. Dorian had steadily been working through it all since he’d come home that afternoon, which felt like days ago with no rest, and he’d only just looked up to see that it was well past midnight and he hadn’t even eaten yet. Though, truth be told, he wasn’t even hungry. At least he’d been smart enough not to open a bottle of wine while he’d worked, but instead had been refilling his mug with cup after cup of dark coffee. That was probably almost as bad as the wine.

He was trembling just a little for the mix of caffeine, nerves, and exhaustion. That meant it was time to call it for the night. Food could wait until morning since he was reasonably sure eating now would only make him feel worse. So he went for a long, hot shower and only partly bothered to dry himself off before he slid into bed. His skin was pink and tight from the water, but the sheets felt good against his naked body as he tangled himself in the sheets and tried to force himself to sleep. The morning would come early, and soon, and lying there for hours wasn’t going to make it any better.

There was half a thought to text Cullen, still at work, but even reaching for his phone beside the bed was too hard. Dorian felt like a rock: heavy and unmoving. He missed the other man, though, and as he lay there drifting off he couldn’t help but think he’d sleep much better if Cullen were there.

\----

It had been a long fucking day. A long weekend, really. The singer they were working with, Merrill, was all over the place and hadn't sent in her sheet music until Friday night, which meant the whole weekend was spent trying to learn new music so they could be ready for her arrival today. _While_ he was playing, Cullen was happy enough, but as soon as they took breaks, the exhaustion hit him. His left hand was cramping something fierce, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to stand straight again.

But they'd wrapped at 10 tonight, which had been a blessing. He'd shot a text off to Dorian, hoping they could maybe squeeze in some time, and packed his things to go. Until Garrett called him in his office, of course. He'd kept Cullen a full two hours after, wanting to know where Cullen wanted to go in the studio. _I really just want to fucking go,_ he'd thought, but he'd stayed to finish their talk.

Now, it was closer to 1 am than he'd wanted, and he knew there were several more days like this one in his future. He sighed heavily once he got to the train platform. He had a choice to make. The southbound train would send him to his lumpy futon at Samson's. The northbound would take him to Dorian's. Dorian had never texted him back, which he hoped meant that the man had turned in early. He should just let him be, let him sleep. But the thought of that sad little futon was entirely too depressing, and his footsteps led him to the northbound platform.

At Dorian’s, he closed the door and locked it as quietly as he could, taking his shoes off at the entryway. The sight of his beat up converse next to Dorian's fine leather loafers made him chuckle quietly as he surveyed the living room. Dorian always had piles of things around, mail, papers from work, that sort of thing, but this was something else. Mountains of notes covered almost every flat surface, a testament to how busy the man had been. Cullen really hoped that the unreturned text meant he went to bed at a decent hour.

He padded softly to the guest bathroom to get undressed and at least wash his face. That done, he made his way slowly into Dorian's room. The man was curled up on his side, and Cullen paused for a moment just to enjoy his unguarded sleeping face. A thin strip of light from the open door fell across him. It was a pretty picture, and Cullen's chest fluttered for a moment. _Enough staring. Get in bed before you pass out standing up._

Cullen rubbed his hands together to warm them. There'd been a chill in the air, and it wouldn't do to wake Dorian with his freezing fingers. Satisfied, he slid carefully between the sheets, stopping for a moment when Dorian mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over. A few tense seconds passed before Cullen relaxed and finally settled down into bed, pressing against Dorian's back and slowly wrapping an arm around him. He just lay there for a while, listening to Dorian's soft breathing, feeling the man's chest expand and fall with each breath. It was hypnotic, and Cullen soon found himself drifting off into that warmth.

\----

The feeling of someone else close made him stir, though Dorian _knew_ who it was. His body woke slowly, unwillingly, and he let out a whine as he realized he was awake again. Dorian took stock for a moment, then smiled for the feeling of that warm chest pressed against his back. Cullen’s message before had made him hope, but too much of that was going to lead to disappointment these days. Still, waking up to Cullen being there made that little part of him that _had_ hoped very, very happy.

He rolled over so he was facing the other man and curled in against that strong chest. Dorian tucked his face in against Cullen’s neck and breathed him in before he pressed a few kisses against his pulse and curled an arm around Cullen’s waist to keep them closer. This was what he liked. He liked the feeling of their legs tangling together and being pressed against one another from chest to groin while they slept. Cullen was so warm, which only served to make Dorian feel that much better, and all he wanted was to bundle in close and pretend he had nowhere to be in a few hours so they could stay like this all day.

\----

 _Shit. I woke him up anyway._ Annoyance crowded out the sleep that was already buzzing around Cullen's mind. _Every damn time._ Which is why he tried to give Dorian space to rest without interruption, he tried to go back to his own place and avoid the temptation to come back here every night. Those little kisses and the feeling of arms around him and just the way Dorian smelled were hard to resist, though.

He settled into Dorian's arms, letting his fingers trail in little circles on the man's back. “Sorry I woke you,” he breathed as he pressed a kiss to Dorian's forehead.

\----

“Wasn’t asleep long,” he answered, and curled in closer. Dorian slid one leg between both of Cullen’s to tangle them together and he nuzzled his nose at the divot between the other man’s collarbone. The jangling of his nerves eased a little, wrapped up as they were. That constant feeling of a light tremble melted away, and Dorian sighed happily. The absence of that feeling of weakness was better than the sleep, honestly.

He huffed a sigh then and moved, pulling Cullen as he rolled onto his back so the larger man was on top of him. Dorian tipped his chin up and kissed him, though it was decidedly chaste and sleepy, “How was tonight?”

\----

Cullen let out a laugh, soft and low. Dorian had been run ragged, and here he was, asking about Cullen's day at this obscene hour. As he did, almost every time Cullen woke him, regardless of how many times he tried to get him to hush and go back to sleep. In truth, part of him was happy they could have even this sleepy conversation these days. Without them, it'd just be a string of texts until this storm of work ended, and that was just too lonely.

“Not too bad,” he returned as he hooked his leg around one of Dorian's and let his hand rest on his chest. “Talented singer, just scatterbrained, you know? Makes for slow going.” He took a deep breath, contented, and snuggled into Dorian's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin of his chest. “You've been busy, though. Go back to sleep… we can talk in the morning a bit.”

\----

He sighed happily, mostly asleep before he even realized, and buried his face in Cullen’s hair. It felt good, for all of what felt like five seconds before the chiming of his alarm made his eyes snap open. His heartbeat jumped. _Alarm._ Dorian took a shaking kind of breath and reached over with one hand to grab his phone and click the alarm off. He always set it for twenty minutes before he actually needed to get out of bed, two snooze cycles, so he could feasibly wake up a bit. Stumbling around in the morning only ever served to annoy him, and it wasn’t how he wanted to start the day.

Dorian sighed, rolled onto his side so he could curl more around Cullen, and kissed the other man’s forehead. He always looked so peaceful when he slept. The man was practically an angel out of a Chantry tale with his golden curls and milky skin, but it was when he lay so close like this that Dorian really believed it. He didn’t want to be awake. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. He was fine with being awake, but he would have rathered not having to get out of bed. What Dorian wanted was to get coffee, crawl back under the warm blankets, and doze until well after noon together. Then they could get up, possibly contemplate lunch, and come back to fall into bed for several other reasons.

_Buyers today. Buyers meeting the University team for the first time. You need to make sure they don’t get off to a rocky start._

Public relations had never really been his forte, and yet here they were. One hand smoothed along Cullen’s back, and Dorian kissed him sweetly on the tip of the nose, “Morning,” he prompted with a voice thick from deep sleep. Cullen didn’t like staying when Dorian was at work, which he secretly appreciated, and Dorian didn’t like waking him last minute. “Come on…” he went on, “coffee and breakfast.”

\----

Cullen groaned and scooted in closer to Dorian. It couldn’t possibly be time to wake up yet, surely. He felt like he'd just fallen asleep, and his whole body rejected the idea of consciousness right now. It wanted the touch of soft skin and the warmth they shared under the blankets, not getting up and certainly not _doing_ anything. He missed the days when they could lounge about all morning, rising only when they finally felt good and ready. Even though his own situation had been worse then, at least he had lazy mornings with Dorian.

“Nope,” he grumbled, “Morning has been cancelled. Try again later.”

\----

“Maker, don’t tempt me,” Dorian whined against Cullen’s shoulder before he kissed him again. This was also why he set the alarm for a bit earlier. Neither he nor Cullen seemed terribly good at getting out of bed when necessary. So he snuggled in closer and trailed his fingers up Cullen’s back so they scratched just gently. “You should just come with me,” he went on sulkily, “my day would be improved two hundred percent if I knew you were around.”

\----

Dorian got a little chuckle out of him for that, so ridiculous was the idea. Cullen popped one eye open, “Is it bring your clueless partner to work day already?” For the life of him, he still couldn't use the term _boyfriend_ , at least, not out loud.

He lay there for just a bit, enjoying the feeling of that light scratching on his back. He _knew_ he should get up. He knew he shouldn't keep Dorian in this bed for much longer, but he also _missed_ the man. In many ways, as his waking body was telling him now. _No time for that_ , he thought, a little sadly, even as he held Dorian against him tighter.

“Fine,” he sighed, “Go shower, and I'll make us some breakfast.”

\----

“We still have a bit,” Dorian murmured, “I set the alarm a bit early.” Both arms wound around Cullen’s neck, and Dorian nuzzled his face in against the other man’s ear, “Fifteen minutes? Then I really do have to get up and shower.” What he wanted was to just feel Cullen next to him. Still, there was no denying how his body and blood warmed as he woke and pressed closer, and with nothing to hide it Dorian was reasonably sure Cullen would realize soon. Ah well. What a way to wake up, right? “Kiss me.”

\----

Morning breath be damned, he leaned in and kissed Dorian, deeper than he'd allowed himself to in a while. Fifteen minutes wasn't much time, but the way his body was reacting, he couldn't help it. His fingers kneaded into the muscle in Dorian's back. A groan rose from his chest. He wanted. He wanted more than he could have in fifteen minutes, but he'd make the most of it.

\----

They didn’t have a lot of time. They never had a lot of time. That said, Dorian knew what to do without a lot of time. Most of his adolescence involved not a lot of time. Besides, that groan was too perfect. “You are too beautiful for this early in the morning,” he practically purred against those gorgeous scarred lips as his hand slithered between their bodies to wrap around them both.

Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough, but it was certainly _something_.

Not long later, sweat beading at his hairline for the mixed warmth of Cullen’s body and his own lust, Dorian chuckled happily and kissed Cullen again. They were both shaky and sticky now, and a shower was most definitely on the horizon. Sadly, all he wanted was to go back to sleep for as boneless and content as he felt. That wasn’t going to happen. Neither was spending a day with Cullen close by to calm his nerves.

“Now I _do_ need to shower,” he teased.

\----

_Oh, but Dorian was talented._

“Mmmmm,” Cullen agreed. If he didn't want to move before, he was positively loathe to now. He was relaxed, his body loose and comfortable in a way it hadn't been for a while. Still, the day beckoned, regardless of what he wanted. He kissed Dorian's forehead before giving him a playful little push. “Go. Go before I decide we're never leaving this bed.”

\----

“Fine,” he grumbled and reluctantly pulled himself out from their warm cocoon to saunter (yes, because he couldn’t help the extra sway in his hips to show off just a little) to the bathroom so he could shower.

When he was washed, put together, and mostly awake Dorian made his way back out to the kitchen to try to make some sense of all the paperwork on his counter and make coffee. His head was pounding with the need for more sleep, more sex, and more Cullen. And possibly food. Yes, food was necessary.

“How do you feel about,” he began as he opened his fridge and chewed on his lower lip while searching through the small containers of fruit and veg he had, “oatmeal with strawberries and blueberries?” he called to Cullen in the other room, “I’m out of eggs at the moment.”

\----

“Sounds good,” Cullen replied, buckling his belt as he walked into the kitchen. He didn't have to go back to the studio until the afternoon, so he'd go back to the apartment and shower there. No sense in wasting perfectly good minutes in a shower alone, after all. “... and like maybe you could use a trip to the grocery store.”

An idea struck him then, and he smiled as he set about retrieving bowls and slicing fruit.

\----

“I’ll get on that,” he chuckled as he set to work on the oatmeal. This type of morning was their usual, and it felt very comfortable. Even Cullen standing there and looking completely rumpled and ravished, which was making it incredibly difficult to want to leave soon, was pretty par for the course these days. Small things, like sharing breakfast or a quick morning before work, tended to sustain Dorian more than he wanted to admit. No one else had ever done that for him.

With a quick glance over his shoulder he smiled, “What time do you go back in tonight?” Dorian asked, “think there might be enough time for a star-crossed kiss at the train station?”

\----

A frown clouded Cullen's face. As much as he wanted to steal every moment he could, he doubted it would happen today. This morning may be all they were going to get. “I have to be there at 4,” he complained, “Unless you can somehow leave early, I don't think so.”

It sucked. The situation sucked. There was no other way Cullen could describe it. He was busier these days, sure, but that wouldn't kill him. What was killing him was that Dorian was so close and so far at the same time. They shared a bed on the nights Cullen couldn't resist, but that wasn't the same. Sleeping and a quick breakfast before heading out to do it all again was hardly enough.

_This too shall pass._

Hadn't he said that to Dorian the other day? Well, it was easy to say, but hard to take comfort in. Not when he knew Dorian was at his wit’s end with all this work, but there wasn't a damn thing Cullen could do about it because he couldn't be around. He felt like he was letting Dorian down, failing him somehow, and though the thought was ridiculous… it was still there, kicking up a tight, anxious feeling in his chest that he tried his hardest to ignore.

“I could come back tonight... if you don't mind the fact that I always seem to wake you up regardless of how hard I try not to?”

\----

“Come back tonight,” Dorian agreed with a nod, “being woken up for a couple of minutes is worth the morning.” He cast a glance down at the oatmeal on the stove before he shuffled over and kissed Cullen’s cheek. “Besides, you always say you sleep better here, and who am I to deprive you of high thread count and a comfortable mattress?” he teased, “and... I like this.”

\----

Cullen laughed softly, rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes as he reached for two clean coffee mugs. There were more dirty than clean, Cullen noticed. Dorian was tearing through his coffee reserves. “Yes, the sheets. That's what I come here for,” he paused, “But I like this, too. More mornings like this, and I _may_ turn into a morning person.”

And he _did_ like it. The two of them up in the early morning, making breakfast and getting ready for the day had become something he looked forward to. It was a little slice of domestic bliss in the middle of this shitstorm of _busy_ they'd found themselves caught up in. It kept them close despite the cancelled dinners and missed texts and whatever else kept them apart these days.

Something twisted in Cullen's mind then, and he realized how much like _home_ it felt. Here with Dorian was more a home than Samson's had ever felt. No, this was more like before… more like it had been with Ella. Easy, natural. He'd thought idly before how nice it would be if he could stay with Dorian, but this was the first time he'd thought that word, _home_ , and he liked the way it rolled around in his head. Still, he wasn’t about to ask if he could move in, not in the middle of all this and not unless Dorian said something first. He remembered the man's reaction when he'd joked about it many months ago. No, he'd take it at Dorian's pace and let the feeling that here with this man was _home_ be his own little secret.

He poured them coffee as Dorian scooped the oatmeal out into bowls, then set about loading both his coffee and his oatmeal with milk and sugar. “What's today looking like for you? Still rough, I take it?” he asked, gesturing to all the paperwork… everywhere.

\----

“Today starts everyone coming in to look at the collection,” Dorian answered, and covered his oatmeal with a heavy handful of fruit before he poured some milk over it, “which means I’ll be in and out of the office all day to go show it, then go back, then show it again, and it’s all in the same building, but I can imagine I’ll want to die before it gets to the end of the week.”

He ate with his bowl in hand and his hip against the counter so he could smile at Cullen, “so coming back here tonight would definitely be appreciated.” There was probably going to be a long bath on the horizon if his day went the way he expected. “And what about you? Work this afternoon, and... what? Go back to Samson’s to sleep for a few hours?”

\----

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't die,” Cullen replied with a sympathetic smile. All those people… it sounded dreadful to him, but Dorian was a more social creature by far. “Merrill has us from 6 to 11 tonight,” he explained, “So we've gotta be there at 4 to set up and all that. I do believe a shower and probably some practicing over at Samson's are happening this afternoon.” That was only half true, though. He had a few errands to run before then, but Dorian didn't need to know that. Yet. “.... which means I'll be in late again.”

Cullen sighed heavily. He was torn. He thoroughly enjoyed his job, and for all her erratic ways, the singer they were working with was truly talented. It was exciting to hear the music unfolding, exciting to know that they were making it. He felt more than a little guilty for enjoying it, exhausting as his schedule had been. He felt guilty for enjoying it despite how it cut into the time he had with Dorian, for enjoying it even as he missed the man desperately.

\----

“Late’s alright,” he replied and leaned over to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “though I am a bit jealous that Samson will get to hear you practice and not me, but that’s more for the weekend.” Dorian rather liked the few hours when he was home and Cullen would stay when he’d play around on his guitar and sing while Dorian worked. It was soothing to his soul, he’d decided. Since he didn’t get to hear it on the way home every day now, he took it where he could get it. “I miss hearing you play,” Dorian admitted, “it always makes me feel better.”

A quick glance to the clock then and Dorian swore. It wasn’t so much the getting there ‘on time’ this week as it was wanting to get a train that wasn’t completely packed to the gills. And so that he’d have ten minutes to himself before the meetings started. He gulped down what was left of his oatmeal and coffee before running to brush his teeth. Mornings were absolutely the worst. “I’ll send you something in a few hours,” he promised as he leaned in to press a quick yet still warm kiss to Cullen’s lips, “I’ve got to grab the earlier train. Tonight, though? I can’t wait to see you later.”

\----

“Tonight,” Cullen agreed as he saw Dorian to the door, stealing one last kiss before the man disappeared down the stairs. _Time flies…_ he thought wearily. This was the part where he usually washed the breakfast dishes, grabbed his guitar, and left. He'd never asked Dorian if he could stay while Dorian was at work, and it just felt wrong without him, so he didn't linger.

Today, though, would be different. He'd had an idea earlier… one that demanded he change his routine a bit. He set the dishes in the sink to rinse, grabbed his wallet and keys, and locked up, leaving his guitar behind. One trip to the little corner grocery later saw his return, loaded with bags and wishing he had a damn car.

Cullen hummed as he worked, first unloading the bags of groceries he'd gotten - just some staples like eggs, milk and bread, nothing fancy - and then cooking. He was determined that Dorian would have something decent for dinner, and he knew the man well enough by now to know that his dinners had likely been coffee with a side of more coffee these days. After a flurry of chopping, seasoning and sautéing, he had two dishes in the oven, a cheesy chicken broccoli casserole and, yes, his shepherd's pie. While they cooked and then cooled, Cullen spent his time cleaning the kitchen, showering (he may have experimented with some of Dorian's hair products, but he'd never tell) and playing a bit.

When everything was cool, he portioned individual servings out into bags and popped them into the freezer. There. The man had no excuse not to eat something now.

Before he finally left, he scribbled a quick note that he placed on the counter, along with a package of macadamia nut cookies.

_Dorian,_

  _These are NOT for dinner. These are for AFTER. Your dinner is in the freezer. Just heat it up in the microwave or oven. I also got some salad stuff… not sure what kind of dressing you like, so I hope balsamic is ok._

  _Anyway, please take care of yourself. I'm proud of you, for what it's worth, and hope this helps._

  _Yours,_

_Cullen_

Satisfied with his work, Cullen grabbed his guitar and finally headed out for a late lunch and early start at the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	17. Inopportune Time [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the growing pressure causes both men to crack.

By the time Dorian got home that night, all he wanted was to run a hot bath and lie in it until he was completely boiled. His legs and feet and back hurt from the, no kidding, fifteen loops of the building he’d done as well as the gallery circuit for the installation. Maker, he felt like someone hit him with a truck. He’d opted for a cab instead of the train home since he could hardly be bothered to do any more stairs than he needed to, and getting out of it and up to his flat was hard enough. That said, the want for a bath aside, Cullen had sent something about a ‘surprise’ that afternoon. Dorian had never known Cullen to do surprises, so he could only imagine what that could mean.

When he opened the door he was struck by just how... clean everything was. Cullen was usually nice enough to do their breakfast dishes, which Dorian appreciated so much, but there was something else. The house smelled like...like food. _Real_ food. Curious. After he shucked out of his shoes and put his keys down, Dorian made his way into the kitchen and let out a laugh.

The note made his heart flutter. Real fluttering. Then again, that seemed to happen more and more often since he’d met the man, but that wasn’t the point. Dorian picked it up, eyed Cullen’s very even teacher-script, and chuckled again. The Maker had blessed him, for sure, and despite the note’s warning, he grabbed for one of the cookies before opening the fridge and freezer to inspect. It actually looked like someone lived there now. Dinner, a real dinner, would happen after his bath.

As he munched on the cookie and headed for the bathroom, Dorian quickly unlocked his phone. It wasn’t quite six, so while he’d already be at work, hopefully Cullen could at least see the text. In the last few weeks, it was understood that they may not be able to answer right away, which suited Dorian. He liked the idea of leaving little notes anyway. So saying, he flicked on the hot water and leaned against the tub as he held what was left of the cookie in one hand and typed out the message with the other:

_[Send Message: Cullen (5:53PM)]: UR entirely too good to me. Having a hot bath then dinner, it all looks amazing. Knock em dead and ill see u later. miss u xoxo_

He ended the message with a kissing smiley, which seemed to be the one he used the most, and smiled to himself. No one he’d ever known would have ever done anything like that for him. Maybe, _maybe_ , Livia or Gereon would have sent food with him when he lived alone, but no one he knew would have ever come cook for him just because it was a rough and busy week. The fact that Cullen took that time out of his own days, which were just as full as Dorian’s, made it that much more important, too. The man was... well, Dorian had said it. He was entirely too good to him. Whatever he’d done in this life or perhaps a past one, Dorian hoped it was enough to keep Cullen around.

Suddenly ‘smitten’ didn’t feel like nearly good enough of a word.

\----

Cullen jerked awake, unsure of where he was in the aftermath of the nightmare. Maker, he hadn't had it in _so long_ that he thought he'd moved past it. It was still just as terrible, just as dark as he remembered it, and it set his heart to pounding.

_You'll be ok. I love you._

Those had been her last words to him, words that had haunted him for years. He'd proven her wrong in a spectacular way - for a long time, he'd been anything but ok. Still, in the past year and a half, he'd made progress… or at least he thought he had.

Days had passed - or had it been a week by now? - since he'd been humming to himself, cooking a week’s worth of meals for Dorian and thinking of _home._ Since then, his schedule hadn't relented, and Dorian's had only gotten worse. The man now had to rise so early that if Cullen were to stay, he'd only be in the way, and neither of them would get any sleep. He wouldn't do that to Dorian, so he told him he'd make it up to him when all this was over. He could tell Dorian wasn't happy with that, and, shit, neither was he, but they both needed rest now.

Which was, of course, why he was waking up on this miserable futon in Samson's living room, clutching a pillow and covered in a cold sweat. This was too much like how it was before he met Dorian. He was dismayed to learn that the same old demons were still there, just waiting to get him alone to sink their teeth in. He fell back into the fitful nights and days where he'd struggle to leave bed to get to work. He had to fight harder to find the point, chanting the words _this too shall pass_ until he managed to get up and out. 

He just… he'd thought he was past all that. The nightmare coming back was proof enough that he wasn't. He wanted… no, needed Dorian's warmth to chase all that away again. He couldn't have that… at least, not right now.

So, they made do with texts. It was lonely, hard and just… cold. Yes, cold was a good word for it.

He groaned and looked at his phone to see that it was nearly noon. Great. He had just a few hours to himself before he had to do it all again. Coffee would help. Coffee and a cigarette. That thought gave him just enough energy to roll out of bed, and a few minute's work saw him out on the sad little slab of concrete the apartment complex called a “balcony” with a coffee cup in one shaking hand and a cigarette in the other.

\----

It wasn’t long after the sound of Cullen rolling around and walking in the front room roused Samson as well. Having coffee made was good. Maddox had a tendency to leave the kitchen a complete mess when he made it, so Cullen’s presence at home had been appreciated. It had been a long time since he’d been home so many days in a row after all.

He pushed open the streaky glass sliding door that led to the patio and stepped out, squealing it closed behind him as he walked up to be even with Cullen with mug in hand. “Nightmares again?” he asked, then sipped his coffee, “you were talking in your sleep.”

\----

Even this was like it was before Dorian. Cullen swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at that, jaw working for a moment. Samson _knew_ him, had known him at his worst, so it was hard to try and be anything other than that… hard not to fall into old ways of thinking, old ways of being.

“.... yeah,” he finally relented, “Sorry if I woke you.” His tone was terse, harsher than it needed to be. Whatever had happened, Samson was… well, if not a friend then at least someone significant. They'd been through a lot together, after all. Even if the man's solution had been to get stoned out of their minds together, he'd been one of the few people who didn't order Cullen to just feel better, who didn't offer up empty words of advice. Cullen remembered that had seemed very important at the time.

\----

“I was actually already up,” Samson chuckled, “wonder of wonders.” Blue eyes cast a glance sideways to take in how Cullen seemed to tense up at that comment, and he leaned over to nudge the other man’s arm gently. “You know,” he went on, “I remember looking something up about that back when we were stealing that guy’s internet. Something about when it’s been a bad thing and there’s nightmares, they don’t just... get better after a certain amount of time. Even if you want ‘em to.”

Samson took a drink of his coffee then and shifted his weight so he was looking at Cullen a bit more than just standing beside him, “You look like shit, Rutherford, and you were... doing better. You alright?”

\----

Cullen bristled at that. Of course Samson noticed, of course he'd ask. That was just how he was. Talking about it would make it real, though, and Cullen wasn't keen on facing that, not so soon after waking… maybe not ever. Besides, what would he even say? _No, I'm not alright. In fact, nothing’s really changed, has it? Same shit, different day._

“I'm fine, just tired,” he answered after taking a puff of his cigarette, “Work's been all over the place.” Not a lie. Not exactly the truth, but not a lie.

\----

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been running you ragged a bit,” and looked down at one sickly-thin looking hand before he wrapped it around the warm mug, “you, uh... everything okay with your man? What’s his name?” Already he was starting to shift his weight around and fidget. Being up for a couple of hours already would do that, and Samson couldn’t quite help how his hand went from holding the cup to running through his brown hair to scratching at his arm.

\----

A hard look settled on Cullen’s features. Samson was an addict, yes, but he'd always been insightful. It happened often enough that Cullen thought it a product of a potentially great mind. A sadness crept in then, as he watched the man start to fidget and scratch. He knew that dance, had performed it himself often enough all the times he'd been without. Soon enough, Samson would duck back into his bedroom for the thing that his body needed to stop that incessant fidgeting. Just watching him made Cullen’s skin crawl with remembered need, and it wasn't long before he caught himself absently scratching at his own forearm. _Shit._

He made his hands busy with putting out his cigarette and lighting another before he responded. “Dorian. His name is Dorian. And things are… fine. He's just been busy, too. Busier than me, actually,” he sighed and his tone softened. “It's been… trying, really.” That was as close to the truth as he was willing to get right now. He hoped it would suffice, and Samson would take his fidgeting and scratching elsewhere.

\----

“Dorian,” Samson repeated, like perhaps he was trying to commit it to memory. Whether it worked was always a fifty-fifty chance. “Well, you’ll get through it,” he went on and offered Cullen a small smile, “actually, uh... I’ve got something for you. You’ve been off being all busy and everything, and I didn’t get to give it to you.”

He set his coffee down on the grubby table they had out there and patted Cullen’s arm once before he turned to go back inside. It was a few minutes, punctuated a bit by some thumping in his room and a bit of muffled swearing, before he came back out and shut the glass door behind him again. “You’re lucky I didn’t keep it for myself,” he chuckled and grabbed up his mug again before he held up his other hand, “I was sorely tempted, but figured sharing is caring, right? I remember that from some playschool bullshit.”

Samson was grinning then, and he reached out to press a small plastic bag into the palm of Cullen’s hand, “It’s not much,” he told him, “but you haven’t really been around here to put any in for it. I just... you’re busy and you’re tired. This’ll help you get through the days when maybe your Dorian can’t, you know, get the engines revved up on his own.”

\----

As surprised as Cullen was at hearing Samson had something for him, he really should have known what it would be. He should have stopped the man before he went back in. As it was, his skin burned where Samson pressed that tiny packet of poison into his hand. His mind recoiled in horror and anger… but there was an undercurrent there of something familiar, like an old friend. The _need._

_Yes, Maker, take it. Take it. Take it. Feel better. It would be so easy, nothing really, to make everything better._

_No._

_Yes._

He tossed the packet onto the table like it was a hot coal.

“Fuck, Samson! I can't… you know I can't have this!” Cullen's voice was full of anger, but there was also fear there. Fear that he _wanted_ it still, even after so long. Fear that he'd never not want it. He took a few shaky breaths, trying to maintain control, trying to make sense of what was happening. _He's just trying to help, in his own way._ “Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this… I can't.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that, “Well, I can always take it back if you don’t want it, you know,” Samson pointed out, then took a step toward the table before he stopped himself. He turned, looked back up at Cullen, then cocked his head to the side, “I know what you’re trying to do with this being clean thing,” Samson told him. He gestured to the bag on the table then, “you’ve got this boyfriend who’s all fancy and your job and everything else, and that’s real great. It really is. But I’ve known you a _long time_ , Rutherford, and I know how you get when things make you tired. You’re going to lose it, I can already see it in your face.”

He moved away from the table then and tucked the hand not holding his coffee mug into his pocket, “Think about it,” Samson told him, “it’s not that much, anyway. A pick-me-up for when you need it, if that. Coffee’s probably got more of a kick than it does, but I just don’t want to see you get to that worn out point again. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it. Maker knows…” He pulled his hand out of his pocket, which was already starting to tremble visibly, “anyway.”

\----

Cullen sat down at the table, his head in his hands, and stared at that little bag. Maker help him, he was in trouble. He was in trouble because Samson's words were making _sense_. It wasn't much, no, and would take the edge off, he knew it would. And wouldn't that be preferable to another total break?

No, things weren't that bad. He was just a little tired and lonely, right? Just a little stressed. He should be able to deal with this. A normal person would be able to deal with this.  Besides, who knew better than Cullen what damage could be done by thinking _just this one hit to take the edge off_?

_You're going to lose it._

He was horrified, but not at all surprised, when he felt his hand reaching for what Samson had offered. _I won't take it. I'll just have it. In case._

_In case what? In case you want to throw away the past year?_

_In case it gets so bad I have to._

His throat was tight, his chest heavy as he pocketed that bag.  “Yeah, alright,” Cullen replied, swallowing hard and hating to hear that the old tremor in his voice had returned, “Just in case. Thanks.”

He let out a bitter laugh then. Had he really just _thanked_ Samson for this?

\----

“Maybe try sleeping a bit before you have to go,” Samson told him and cuffed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder before he moved away, “or text your Dorian. That always seems to make you look better.” He grinned again then and headed back inside with another squeal of the glass door.

\----

Cullen sat there for a long time after Samson left him. His coffee cooled and the cigarette he'd lit reduced itself to a cylinder of ash in his fingers. How was it even possible that he was back _here_ , even considering what he was considering? Fuck, it was just _work._ Just work and making temporary sacrifices to get a bit ahead. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special. Every person on the planet faced similar challenges and sucked it up and dealt with it. Cullen had made it through worse. For fuck’s sake, he'd been a bare step above homeless when he'd met Dorian, but he'd managed to stay clean for 8 months by then.

And now, here he was, employed and making a decent living by any standards doing something he loved. Here he was, in a relationship with someone who made his heart jump and calmed his raw nerves just by being near. And yet… here he was, with the very thing he'd fought to avoid, was _still_ fighting to avoid, resting in his pocket. By all rights, he shouldn't be here. He should be better. Things _should be better._

_Flush it. Just go flush it, and Samson will be none the wiser and you can keep going._

There was his solution. Samson would feel good that he'd helped, and the temptation would be gone. Win-win, as they say.

Cullen rose to do just that, making his way inside to the tiny bathroom they all shared. He closed the door behind him, took the little plastic bag out of his pocket, and held it over the toilet with a trembling hand.

A breath passed, then another, and Cullen found himself digging the bag that held his shaving supplies out from under the sink. Another breath and he was unzipping the little inside pocket. Another breath and he was tucking that packet inside, safe and dry and _still there._ Another breath and he was zipping everything up again and stowing the bag back where he got it.

_Just in case._

He showered, got dressed, and went to the studio, all the while thinking about what he'd hidden, what he'd hung on to _just in case_.

\----

Dorian's hands were shaking as he ducked into his office, shut the door, and promptly leaned against it. It was partially out of fatigue, but mostly for the need of quiet. Maybe if he kept the door shut, forced with what bodily strength he had left, he’d be left alone for a while. Dorian could rip the phone out of the wall, jam a chair under the knob, and just... have an hour. Just an hour. All he wanted was an hour to himself.

This shouldn’t have been so hard. Truly, it _wasn’t,_ but his body was trying to make it into something worse than it was. When he’d been doing his Master’s, his body had done much the same thing until he was alight with panic and pacing a track in the carpet with the inability to keep still. It wasn’t quite to that point yet, but on more than one occasion he’d had to stop and push down anxious and panicked tears so he wouldn’t look like a fool. He was so tired. So, so tired. That was the job, though. Dorian would never say he would have ever been go to do twelve hours at a time, that he was able to handle that level of stress, and it was starting to show.

He’d misspoken; something that in all reality didn’t matter, but the buyer wanted to make a big deal out of anyway, and that had been the last straw for him. The man had argued, belittled Dorian’s abilities in front of not only a few of the University’s people, but some of their own, and his face burned in embarrassment and anger. Thinking of it now made his hands shake even more as he fumbled his phone out of his pocket and dropped himself in one of the chairs that sat opposite his desk. Going around to sit in his actual chair was too much for the moment. Dorian just... he needed _something_ , but he didn’t know what. Sleep. Quiet. Comfort. Any and all of the above.

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:23AM)]:_

Dorian stared at the empty message field for a long moment, just wondering what he should say. He didn’t want to lead off with something too dramatic (ironically. Any time it actually _was_ dramatic, he tended not to let on, but the rest of the time was free reign), but he kind of wanted to say something that would actually get answered and not just put off until it was convenient. There had been so much of that recently, and while Dorian hadn’t minded so much, there was a part of him that hurt a little that they rarely ‘talked’ at the same time anymore. Leaving notes was fun sometimes, but it wasn’t the same.

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:23AM)]: Its not even noon and its been a terrible day. Half considering hiding under my desk til 5._

\----

The phone rattling against the dingy glass table made Cullen jump, and he spilled some of the coffee he hadn't really been drinking in his lap. “Fuck,” he hissed as the hot liquid hit him. Still, it was good. It pulled him from his thoughts, thoughts that mostly revolved around Samson’s “gift” from yesterday and whether he had the strength to let it be and why he _didn't_ have the strength to turn it down or throw it away. His own head was a dangerous place to be, yet, without Dorian, that's where he'd been spending most of his time when he wasn't working.

He picked up his phone and stomped inside, unreasonably angry at a coffee stain on ratty jeans, and read the message as he blotted his thigh with paper towels. “Fuck,” he said again as the anger was replaced with an unsettled feeling, a combination of helplessness and sadness. Even a few days ago, he'd have known what to say to Dorian. But the dream had come back and the humming need for something to make it better followed, and he found himself struggling more and more with finding the right words. It was like the first few conversations they'd had all over again.

He sighed and tapped reply. No need to keep the man waiting… it sounded like he needed a friendly message to help him through. Though it was hard for Cullen to say anything but, “just leave and go to bed.” That's something he'd have done, not Dorian.

_[Send Message: Dorian (11:27AM)]: Ugh. Sorry to hear that. Go take a long lunch and get away for a bit, maybe?_

That sounded ok, so he hit send.

\----

Dorian hadn’t moved from where he sat, and thankfully the phone on his desk had stayed quiet. It didn’t help his jangling nerves, however, and the longer he sat there, the longer he felt that weight of panic straddle his solar plexus. His knee bounced and shook, a habit he’d tried to break himself of in recent years to keep from looking foolish, and when his phone buzzed against his thigh, Dorian jumped a bit as it shook him from his thoughts. There were a hundred things to do, none of which he wanted to do, and the lists just kept growing in his head the longer he thought about it.

Cullen’s message was... well, it was nice to see that he replied. That was good. It also wasn’t terribly helpful. Expecting a word from his, yes, _boyfriend_ to make it all better was completely unrealistic but he couldn’t help it. A clutch of some unnamed sadness hit him, and in an instant all those frustrated and exhausted tears rolled back up his throat and into his eyes. The reminder that there was other shit going on outside his crappy day should have made him feel better. It didn’t. It really didn’t.

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:32AM)]: Wish i could. Working lunch today with some buyers including the guy who just spend 15 mins insulting me_

This wasn’t worse than what a lot of people dealt with on a daily basis. Dorian knew that. There were people who worked for fourteen hours a day with horrible people in terrible environments, and here he was bitching that his cushy office job was having a couple of weeks where it was slightly busier than usual. People got yelled at for far less way more often, so it shouldn’t have bothered him. He should have just rolled his eyes and let it go. Why couldn’t he just let it go?

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:33AM)]: Can u come to mine tonight after work? please? i dont care if its late._

\----

The first message had Cullen swearing softly for being such an idiot. Of course Dorian couldn't take a long lunch. If he could do that, he'd probably not be having such a shit day. And here Cullen was, making suggestions that just underlined _how_ shitty the man's day was. He wasn't thinking again, which was, ironically, what happened when he spent too much time _thinking._

The second message though… that one hurt his chest. His eyes locked on that one word - _please_ \- and he felt like the breath had been knocked out of him for a moment. This obsession over what yesterday meant, over whether or not he was actually any better… it had to _stop._ He needed to be there for Dorian… he _wanted_ to be there for Dorian. And he did. He wanted to march down to the man's office and take him out of there and spend the day curled up in bed so both of them could feel like… well, not like _this._ Better. Somehow.

That was a fantasy though, so he stayed in this dismal little kitchenette and sent a reply back.

_[Send Message: Dorian (11:35AM)]  Yes. Of course. Be strong. Breathe. You're amazing and that guy's an asshole._

He thought for a second. He didn't want to unload anything, not now, but that didn't feel like enough.

_[Send Message: Dorian (11:36AM)] And I miss you. So much._

_\----_

That... that was more the speed Dorian wanted. It was stupid. Still, there wasn’t anything wrong with wanting to be coddled a bit sometimes, right? That weight on his chest didn’t ease, but he could forget about it for just a moment. One hand lifted to wipe a bit at at his eyes, and Dorian managed a small chuckle despite the creeping feeling of anxiety. Some sympathy was nice.

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:40AM)]: Miss u too. Thanks. I needed to hear that today. I might push back my morning a bit tomorrow so we can have some time._

He would. He really would. Dorian took a breath then and quickly flipped back through his pictures to a few of the ones he’d taken the last couple of times Cullen stayed. There were a couple Dorian had taken before he’d roused Cullen which made him smile. The man looked impossibly beautiful when he slept, and just the sight of it calmed Dorian that little bit. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:40AM)]: Thinking of u helps. Looking forward to tonight._

\----

Cullen's insides melted a bit at reading that last message and, oddly enough, it made him feel a bit better. Lighter, anyway, and more normal than he'd felt in the past 24 hours. Even if all they got was their little breakfast routine, just the thought of being near the man slowed the thoughts that had threatened to spiral out of control. Thinking of Dorian, it seemed, helped him, too.

_[Send Message: Dorian (11:42AM)] Good luck with your lunch. You can do it. I'll see you tonight._

He stared at the message for a moment before sending it. Nothing in texts ever seemed to really convey the emotion he wanted; his words always seemed too terse, too matter-of-fact. If he were there with Dorian right now, there would be all those little touches and kisses and the care he missed so damn much. “Good luck” just didn't cover it.

“Well, shit,” he laughed as he added “ _< 3” _to the end and hit send before he could convince himself it was too goofy, too embarrassing for a man of his age to be sending hearts over texts like a teenager.

\----

The sight of that heart made Dorian’s do flips. Something about Cullen, of all people, sending him a heart like that was absolutely ridiculous and incredibly sweet. “Maker help me,” Dorian chuckled and actually felt lighter for it. He was falling, so so hard, for this angel-faced man.

With a quick glance to the door, Dorian flicked on the video camera and took a short video of himself, dressed to the nines for work with only slightly reddened eyes, blowing a kiss before he sent it to Cullen. Maybe that would help him, too. Dorian knew staying at Samson’s wasn’t Cullen’s favorite, and he wanted to do something to maybe make him smile.

Once the video sent, Dorian grinned and opened up his messages again-

_[Send Message: Cullen (11:47AM)]: <3 urself. _

\----

It took a second to realize it wasn't just an oddly blurry picture that Dorian had sent. Once Cullen managed to play the video, he laughed out loud, alone in Samson’s little kitchen. He immediately played it three more times, just so he could _see_ Dorian. That mustache that by all rights _should_ have been ridiculous. The little dark mark under his right eye. The way he dressed. The way he moved. His eyes. At that, Cullen paused. Dorian was smiling, blowing a kiss and being silly, but the exhaustion was impossible to miss. Not if you knew what you were looking for, and those slightly too-red eyes worried him. It made him ache to just hold him all that much more, and he was ready for this evening to be over and done with.

He saved the video to his phone - that was one he wanted to hold on to - and set about getting ready to go. They were supposed to wrap with Merrill tonight, but he'd heard that a few nights in a row now. He'd believe it when it happened, but he hoped. 

An hour later, he set out for the studio, heart lighter than it had been in days. He was going to see Dorian tonight, after all. He didn't spare another thought for what lay hidden under the bathroom sink, so preoccupied was he with thinking of the man's warmth and kisses and skin and everything else.

\----

The day had gone on much like the morning had. The quick break for a chat had helped fortify him, though not enough that by the end of the day he wasn’t sitting with his head on the desk with his arms crossed over them to block it all out. That same buyer, the one from the morning, had apparently woken up with the desire to make the day all about making Dorian’s the worst. He interrupted, undermined, second guessed, and argued outright with him. All. Day. If it was supposed to be some scheme to get Dorian to give him what he wanted more easily it was insane, because the last thing Dorian wanted to do was be nice to the fucker.

And the rest had just been... too much. Too much paperwork, too many inquiries about certain pieces and not nearly enough on others, trying to find new buyers, trying to orchestrate the actual auction that was happening at the end of the week... too much. He hurt. His feet and back ached, his head ached, and he almost couldn’t bring himself to get up and leave. As it was, he had so much left to do.

Dorian stayed later than he meant to. It was well past dark when he made his way home, and a look down at his phone said it was almost ten. Maker, he was so tired. He’d been at work for fourteen hours, hadn’t eaten since that miserable lunch at noon, and just wanted to go home so that he could see Cullen when he got there. There was still some of that homemade casserole in the freezer, which was calling to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to heat it up and eat it. He only just got out of his shoes and clothes, which he left in a trail on the floor. Putting things away was too much for him tonight.

He flopped down across the bed and wrapped his arms around the pillow. Dorian was stripped down to his boxers, hair and face still mostly on, but he didn’t care, and he dropped off to sleep like he’d jumped off a cliff. It was such a deep sleep that it almost hurt. He hardly moved, sank into the mattress, and slept so hard that when he jolted awake an hour and a half later in a panic, it actually hurt to move. It felt like his face was plastered to the pillow, which was sporting a rather disgusting looking drool spot, and Dorian wiped a hand over his face.

_The itineraries are wrong! They’re all wrong! Everything is in the wrong order!_

His heart was pounding so hard he felt sick. Dorian stumbled out of the room, bleary from the sleep and the nightmare he’d had. He’d been at work, trying to fix and update everything for the auction, and nothing was the way it should have been. People were screaming and grabbing at him, made his arms feel weighed down and numb, which was actually his arms going numb from lying on them. It had still been terrifying. His nerves felt like they were on fire, and he only just managed to make it to the counter to paw through his notes to make sure things weren’t, in fact, ruined.

They weren’t. Even the old versions were correct.

_Breathe, Pavus. Get ahold of yourself. Today wasn’t that bad. You’re letting yourself get out of control again._

He took a few long, shaking breaths and bent over the counter for a few minutes. It didn’t really help, but at least he didn’t still feel like he was going to be sick. Slowly, Dorian moved away and scrubbed a hand over his face. A shower. A shower would help. He’d have a shower and maybe by then Cullen would be there. At least then he’d have that big, warm body to curl up with. That was a good plan. It was logical and made sense.

Except he only got as far as turning on the water before that same feeling of panic hit him again. Blackness swam at the edges of his vision as Dorian’s heart started pounding so fast and so hard that he worried he was actually having an episode. Heart problems didn’t run in either the Pavus or Thalrassian line so it shouldn’t have been, but Dorian sank to his knees on the cold tile and rested his forehead against the edge of the tub.

_It’s all going to fail. All of it. You’re going to fail and they’ll fire you and you know you couldn’t handle it. Why did you bother? What is wrong with you?_

A low sob escaped him as he gripped at the tub, and Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. Maker help him. He was so fucking weak. Weak. Stupid and weak.

\--

Cullen's entire body was aching. There was a tingling fire that started between his shoulder blades and radiated out to his fingertips . A sharp pain shot down his left leg for every step he took. Not for the first time, he silently cursed his brother's name for the bit of horseplay gone wrong all those years ago that had left him with random bouts of back pain. His hands were cramped and frozen into claws from hours of gripping his guitar, and so far, no amount of gently squeezing and releasing them had helped. Ice and elfroot were definitely going to be needed tomorrow.

He was the walking embodiment of pain and exhaustion, but he was smiling.

It had been a ridiculously long day - early start and late end - but they'd finally finished tracking everything out for Merrill. He'd even laid down some harmonic backing vocals at her request. “Just in case we need something to balance me out. I can get awfully high and screechy, I know,” she'd said with a wink after she heard him singing along while he practiced her music. She was anything but screechy, but he knew what she meant.

The song itself was a love song, speaking of loneliness and the simple desire to just lay beside the one you love, and it had resonated with Cullen on a deep level. His mind inevitably went to Dorian as he played and sang with Merrill. She'd been right, his deep voice had anchored her own soprano notes, complimenting and enhancing each other as they sang together, and by the time they were done, even Isabela had wide eyes. He hoped they'd go with that version during mixing for the simple truth that he wanted Dorian to hear it. Never mind the fact that he could always just play it for the man. He'd yet to muster the courage to try that again… but if he just happened to practice it while he sat in the living room and Dorian was buried in his notes at the kitchen counter, who would blame him?

Cullen flushed with a secret pleasure as he waited for the train that would take him to Dorian's station. Those types of evenings could happen again, now that Merrill was done, and he greatly looked forward to them. Just being there with Dorian, even as they did their own thing, had a way of making him better. Calmer. Stronger.

Yes, it had been a long day and he was in pain, but it had been a good day by the end. And now he had a night wrapped around Dorian's sleeping figure and a longer morning with the man in his future. Even better, he had a few days off - completely off - and he intended to spend lunch breaks and evenings and mornings making up for the past weeks of nothing. He would do his best to be there for Dorian while he was still sunk in the misery of prepping for this latest auction.

His smile slipped a bit when he thought of that. They'd asked Dorian to step up, and he had, but these people… they were treating him like shit. At least one of them had driven Dorian to complain and ask Cullen to _please_ come tonight, and that spoke leagues. Combined with the redness in the man's eyes in that little video he sent… well, Cullen was _very_ glad his schedule had been cleared.

It was close to 12:30 before Cullen turned the key to unlock Dorian's front door. He kicked his shoes off at the entry and leaned his guitar case against the wall as he looked around, brows knit in concern. The lights were on. Dorian shouldn't be awake now, not with how early he'd been having to wake up, and Cullen hoped he hadn't stayed up to wait on him. He took a few steps inside and stumbled, feet caught up in something. A jacket. And there, a few more steps in, a shirt. It wasn't like Dorian to treat his clothes like this.

“What in the Void….” Cullen mumbled softly as he picked up the trail of clothes that led to the bedroom. Once inside, he saw no sign of Dorian in the bed, but he heard running water coming from the bathroom. The door was open, casting a light across the rumpled covers and sheets on the bed, so Cullen moved softly to peek inside and let Dorian know he was there.

The clothes he'd just picked up fell into a pile at Cullen’s feet as amber eyes widened at the scene that greeted him. He knew the man was tired and stressed beyond belief, but he wasn't prepared for this. Dorian. His Dorian, collapsed on the bathroom floor, forehead pressed to the tub and hands gripping its edges in white-knuckled vices. The man was shaking, his breathing was shallow and erratic… and was that soft sound sobbing?

He stood there motionless for a few seconds, heart breaking at the sight, and then something clicked inside him. _Do something. He needs you._ His body moved without thinking, the urge to _protect_ , to _make it better_ was so great.

“Hey, shhhh,” he murmured softly as he got to his knees just behind Dorian, reaching over to turn the tap off with one hand. That done, he gently worked those fingers from their death grip on the side of the tub and pulled the man back between his knees, bringing Dorian's back against his chest, all the while making soothing noises. He wound a hand around Dorian's waist and placed the other over his heart, pressing the two of them together so Dorian could feel the steady rise and fall of Cullen's chest. _So fast! His heartbeat is so fast!_

Cullen rested his head on Dorian's shoulder, lips near the shaking man's ear. “Shhhhh, you're alright. Just breathe. Breathe with me,” he said, tone low and soothing, but a bit thick with emotion for the lump that was rising in his own throat. “Feel that?” he asked as he took deep breaths, “Just in and out. Slow. Easy. In…. and out…” He held Dorian tighter as he buried his face against the man's neck, planting gentle kisses there and taking deep breaths, hoping Dorian would feel them and be still. Hoping it was enough to bring him back from whatever edge he was on.

\----

The water had done a good job of drowning out the sound of anyone coming in the house, though Dorian probably wouldn’t have heard it anyway for how lost in his own head he was. He wasn’t so much _thinking_ but just riding that wave of panic that washed over him. His brain was working overtime so hard that he couldn’t really separate his thoughts from each other, only that none of them were terribly kind. It made him sick.

Dorian didn’t _cry_. Not like this, anyway. Sure, he teared up sometimes when he was frustrated or truly upset, but he never out and out _sobbed_ like a fucking _child_. Maker, it was mortifying. What was worse was that he couldn’t stop himself. All he could do was sit there and weep like some heroine in a cheesy romance novel until all that was left was his shuddering breaths and racing heart. He was so tired. The water had gone cold a while ago, which left him to sit there and take a face full of cold mist every time he shifted .

There was the want to be startled by someone touching him, since Maker knew it would be fitting that someone would fucking come to rob him now. He was just too exhausted. Dorian squeezed his eyes closed and waited, though through the loud and sticky way his thoughts clung to the inside of his head he heard something that sounded like Cullen’s voice. It felt like he was underwater. It was like he couldn’t quite make anything out save for vague, wide sounds.

_You can’t let him see you like this. You’re pathetic._

His muscles complained at how Dorian was practically peeled from his slumped over position, and he struggled a bit against how Cullen held him to his chest. “I’m fine,” he argued, and tried to move out of those strong arms, “it’s fine.”

\----

Dorian was… trying to _get away_ from him. Dorian sounded… angry. He’d just moved without really thinking, wanting to soothe, but now Dorian was fighting him. Confusion rose as several thoughts fired through Cullen's head at once.

_Let him go._

_Hold him tighter._

_… this isn't what he needed. Do you know him at all?_

The last thought cut to the quick. This wasn't the first time he'd done something to _help_ , but had only made things worse. That realization was sobering, and any feeling that he could have made any of this better melted. He was just horrified that, again, he'd gone a step too far. He was too overt. Too clumsy.

His arms unwound themselves to let the struggling man free as Cullen fell back and pushed himself away across the tiled floor. His hand went to his chest where he could still feel Dorian's warmth; his eyes were trained on the ground as he swallowed and fought to control his voice.

“I'm sorry... you seemed…” but he didn't know how to finish that. “I wanted to help. I'm sorry.” He repeated.

_Should I go?_

\----

He was shaking. Trembling. Whether that was from how hard his heart was pounding or from kneeling on cold tile for however long, Dorian didn’t know, but it only made him feel worse. He couldn’t stand, not on his own, but to sit there and look like a fool in front of Cullen really wasn’t what he’d planned on. Maybe he could play it off that he’d... well, saying he’d almost passed out probably wouldn’t make it any better. A moment of weakness, maybe? That’s what it had been, after all.

That said, the moment Cullen pulled away from him he missed the warmth of that chest against his back. His brain was firing too fast, fighting with itself, and while there was that inherent feeling of _shame_ that the other man had seen him like that, he didn’t want to be without him. “Not your fault,” Dorian wheezed as he dithered for a moment on the floor.

_Stop acting like a child_. _Either get up and go to bed or do something._

Dorian moved closer, though he wasn’t sure if it would be welcome at this point. Cullen had scrambled away like he’d been burned, which was pretty reasonable considering, and Dorian could only imagine that he’d flinch away at any more contact. He had every right to, of course. Who wanted to come home and see their lover having a breakdown, after all? Especially after the week Cullen had. It was unsightly. It was disrespectful. It was... very selfish. Maker only knew what Cullen had to think of him now, red faced and shaking and crying like he had been, but there wasn’t much to do for it now.

He leaned over and rested his forehead against Cullen’s shoulder. His heart was still pounding hard, which made his pulse flutter against his neck, and Dorian curled in a bit on himself. “I... I didn’t mean to scare you,” he managed after a moment, though his words came out shaky and stuttered, “I, uh, I should let you get ready for bed. You’re probably tired.”

_Except that I don’t think I can get up._

 ----

“Stop it.”

A strange sort of twisting anger spiked its way through Cullen then, and he closed his eyes against it, fighting the choked feeling it left in its wake. He had tried. Maker, he had tried, but Dorian never really let him in. Every time Cullen tried to help, he either made things worse or Dorian deflected… or both in this case… and he ended up apologizing. Even after Dorian himself reached out to him for comfort - and what was that text asking him to come tonight if not that? - he pulled away when Cullen tried to understand. No wonder he didn’t know what the man needed… he’d never let Cullen really see this side of himself.

And Cullen wanted to. He wanted to know all the facets of the man leaning against him and barely holding himself together. He wanted to help shoulder some of his burden, if he could. He wanted Dorian to know that he didn’t have to have his guard up with Cullen. He wanted Dorian to know that there was no shame in needing help.

He wanted Dorian to trust him.

As it was, he didn’t know. His jaw worked as he pushed that anger out and away. He’d keep trying. He wouldn’t stop.

“Stop,” he repeated with a softer tone as he raised a hand to rest on the back of Dorian’s neck, thumb stroking the skin there gently, “Talk to me… please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian and Samson) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	18. Inopportune Time [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian tells his story and Cullen makes an important discovery.

_Do it and he’ll know what a weak man you are. Is that what you want? Look at him, Cullen’s gotten his shit together and you’re sobbing on the floor. Weak. Weak and pathetic._

“I panic sometimes,” he murmured, “usually not this badly.” One hand lifted to press against the side of his neck, against his pulse, like maybe if he did it would slow down. “I’ve got... I take something for it,” Dorian went on, “but with everything I probably missed some days, probably. Maybe. I don’t know.” Maker, he felt like he was going to throw up. He was exhausted.

Dorian took a breath and waited. He waited for Cullen to laugh at him. He waited for the judgement that he had to take something to make himself normal. It wasn’t even his _fault_. The therapist had said it was normal after traumatic event for things like that to happen, especially during stressful times, but Dorian was the one who had to deal with it. He had to be the one to deal with the pounding heart and thoughts that wouldn’t quiet and the people who _did it to him_ slept comfortably like it hardly bothered them at all.

“I was going to have a shower,” he went on, “and I didn’t... make it.” Dorian pressed harder against his pulse and bit at his lip as he tried to force his breathing to slow down. “It’s fine,” he amended after a moment, “it happens. Stupid thing to happen. People fucking deal with worse than a busy week at work and don’t fall apart like this, after all.” His words were racing like his heart and like his mind now. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ll, um... I’ll do something and it’ll be alright. It’s stupid. I’m fine, I swear.”

Maybe if he brushed it off Cullen wouldn’t think less of him. He wouldn’t think he was broken or pathetic. Of course he _was_ , but he couldn’t let anyone know that. The only people allowed to know were the people he paid to maybe make it easier to deal with, which _clearly_ was going well for the moment.

\----

Cullen had never pressed Dorian for more before. In all the time they’d been together, in whatever capacity, he’d always backed down when Dorian deflected or got angry about the things that bothered him. But after this… he couldn’t back down again. He couldn’t let Dorian go to bed only to wake up to the same old shit thinking he was _stupid_ , of all things.

“Look at who you’re talking to,” Cullen returned firmly, but not unkindly, “If it’s stupid, then what does that make me? We all… we all break, Dorian.” Cullen’s thoughts returned to the little packet hidden under the sink back at Samson’s then… and how close Cullen was to the edge himself. The dreams returning, the sleepless nights, the way he got lost in himself, hating himself, when there was no one around to stop it… maybe if Dorian knew a bit of that, maybe knowing he wasn’t alone in feeling _broken_ would help?

_He can’t know about the thing under the sink. You keep that shit to yourself, Rutherford._

Cullen’s lips pursed to a thin line before he sighed and continued, “My point is… I’m the same. Not for the same reasons, but the result is… similar.” He took a shaky breath, “I’ve, ah, I’ve been struggling. The dream’s come back. I’ve not been sleeping. It’s a lot like… before, when we first met. I just... Maker, I don’t want you to think you’re alone or that you’re stupid for something you can’t even control.”

He stopped then, realizing that his own pulse had increased in the wake of admitting out loud that, yes, he was also in trouble. He’d also thought himself stupid for not being able to deal with things most people could. Hadn’t he been berating himself for it earlier that very day? He softened at that, deciding that maybe pressing right now wasn’t the best course of action. But he did still want Dorian to know that he was there, to listen or to just hold him while he let it out. Whatever _it_ may be.

“... and you can lean on me,” he continued, pulling away and tipping Dorian’s face so he could look into his exhausted, sad, beautiful grey eyes, “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

\----

Except it wasn’t the same. Not really. Dorian appreciated the gesture, appreciated that Cullen was there for him and that he was willing to be there (until he wasn’t, but that wasn’t the point) because he felt a kinship between them. “Thanks,” he breathed, and sniffled a bit before he wiped at his face and blotted at his eyes. he could only imagine what kind of a mess he looked like.

“I didn’t mean to push you off before,” he went on, “not really. I’m not really used to the whole arms around me suddenly kind of thing.” Dorian took a breath and held it for a moment before he let it out. “I can count the number of people who’ve seen me like this on one hand, and I’ve paid two of them,” he went on, “and they were most definitely not the ‘get up and hug’ types.” One arm looped around Cullen’s waist then and he rested his cheek against the other man’s chest. He was tired. Maker, he was so tired. Whatever that hour and a half was, that sleep, meant nothing.

Dorian closed his eyes and just curled in close so he could hear Cullen’s heartbeat, “Could we just go to bed?” he asked, “or... Maker, I don’t know. I just have no fucking idea.” He shook his head against Cullen’s chest and frowned when he felt another wash of heat and shame hit him square behind the eyes again. _No. Not again. I’m crying anymore_. “I would really,” he began again with a thick and trembling kind of voice, “like to do today over again and it not be terrible. Or this whole week or... month or whatever, I don’t care, I just want it to go away.”

\----

Cullen wrapped his arms around Dorian’s shoulders and tucked his head in against his neck. His heart was heavy, and he was glad Dorian couldn’t see his face. He could feel his lips twisting as he fought a wave of exhausted sadness. Cullen was small and weak, he knew he was nothing, but Dorian was _everything_ , and there wasn’t a damn thing Cullen could do to help. There was more causing this than a shitty week, and it hurt a bit to know that there were still walls keeping him out. But, Maker, he still had walls of his own, and he knew better than to try and force his way through them. He’d told Dorian what he wanted to - that he wasn’t going anywhere, that Dorian could open up to him - and if the man wouldn’t, well, what could Cullen really do?

But it still hurt to be so helpless in the face of this.

“It’s ok… about earlier,” he murmured, “I wasn’t thinking. I should have let you know I was there. I was just…” _Just what?_ “...scared, I guess.”

Cullen took a breath and let his hands move slowly up and down Dorian’s back. It still felt… unsettled. Wrong. He was here. Dorian was in his arms, but it didn’t feel like anything was _better_. Something important tried to surface in Cullen’s mind then… what was it? Something Samson had said…

_… they don’t just… get better after a certain amount of time. Even if you want ‘em to._

He’d been talking about Cullen’s dreams, but the words rang true. Sometimes, shit didn’t get better just because you wanted it to. Sometimes, you had to accept that and try to get some sleep and keep going. It was a hard pill to swallow, but it was the truth of things.

“Maker knows a do-over would work miracles,” he continued, “but this… this won’t last forever.” And it wouldn’t, but if whatever was driving Dorian to panic was anything like what Cullen went through, he was starting to think it also would never _actually_ leave. It would just keep on, waiting patiently until things seemed fine to pop back up like an unexpected and entirely unwanted visitor. Suddenly, Cullen’s whole body felt heavy; that thought was just too hopeless, and his own exhaustion was catching up with him. “... I think some sleep would do both of us some good... if that’s what you want.”

\----

Sleep would have been wonderful. He was exhausted, completely spent (and not in a good way), but Dorian knew himself. Sleep probably wasn’t going to come for a while. Granted the fluttering of his pulse had started to slow, which made the fatigue hit him like a bus, but he would probably lie there for hours until the adrenaline in his system finally ran out. He took a breath and sighed before he nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s chest again. Before they went to bed he’d need to be sure to actually take his medication and put some in a travel case to take up to work should he need to stay late like he’d been doing. There was no getting around that.

It was reckless and immature to not remember. Or... let it get so bad he forgot. That said, he’d hoped he was long past the days of having to mark a calendar or set an alarm on his phone to take them. Dorian had been fine for years with it. Maker help him, he even went to most of his sessions with his doctor and didn’t feel like he was just rehashing the same thing over and over again. All it took, though, was a bad week and he was right where he was a few years ago. Maybe he wasn’t as well off as he thought.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he admitted after a moment and ran a hand along Cullen’s arm. There was no movement to get up, despite the fact that he was cold from having spent however long on the floor in nothing but his underwear. Cullen was warm, and it was rather nice to have an arm around him again. “I sort of scared myself,” Dorian went on and winced for how cliche that sounded. Ugh. “Sometimes I skip doses here and there, which is _not_ the smartest thing, but this time I really didn’t mean to,” he explained, “just with the getting home late and being tired and never really eating on a schedule it kind of got lost. I’d forget if I had them in the morning, thinking I had and... I need to sit down and get it all straightened out again.”

The only person he’d ever admitted anything like that to was his doctor.

“Could I... and I know you’ll say yes,” he interrupted himself with an exasperated sigh, “but you said we’d be okay. I just... can I tell you something about my parents? That, I mean, no one really else knows. Felix and his family know because they took me in after, and... obviously my doctor, but no one else knows. Not even Sera knows because I think if she did, there’d be a bomb put in their mailbox or something.”

\----

This was an unexpected turn, one that dragged Cullen out of his own tired internal conflict. He assumed they'd both be struggling to stand and heading to bed by now after that, but this… if Dorian wanted to tell him something _this_ important, he'd sit on this cold, hard floor all damn night. He'd greet the sun in the morning if that's what Dorian wanted. If it would help, even in a small way.

Cullen straightened up, arching his back to relieve the stiffness there, and rested his hands on Dorian's hips. “We'll be fine. I promised, right?” he said with a small smile, one that he hoped was encouraging. “I'll listen, whatever you want to tell me.”

\----

_Just keep in mind, you’re not paying him._

“I was a problem kid,” Dorian began, “I acted out a lot. I got thrown out of schools, fights, everything…” At least he was willing to admit that it wasn’t _just_ his parents’ fault. Mostly. It was still their fault since he’d been a _child_ , but... not the point. “And when I got older it, only got worse with the whole sexuality thing and it not going along with their plans. They didn’t like it, so they’d punish me for it, which would make me act out more, and... on and on. I found out later a lot of the acting out was apparently a lot of _shit_ in my head that was wrong that no one wanted to acknowledge because it wasn’t _done_.”

He rubbed a hand against his leg, if only so he could focus on the sensation. “When I got older and wouldn’t _behave,_ they signed me over to this facility that was supposed to ‘make me better’ because they finally had enough. The place was a crock and just stuffed you with enough drugs so you couldn’t feel or think and just did whatever they told you. I spent five weeks doing ‘therapy’ for seven hours a day being told that the reason I was such a horrible person was because I was gay, and that if I just did what my parents told me, all the problems would go away,” Dorian explained, “it was just medieval enough, some bullshit about going ‘back to basics,’ that if you fought or tried to get out before whoever checked you in came to get you, they’d do the whole hydrotherapy in a super hot bath to keep you pliant or the hose of cold water. They said it was a ‘more concrete kind of treatment,’ but it was just super old-fashioned bullshit with modern cocktails of anti-psychotics that’d keep you stoned off your head until someone came to get you.”

His cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and Dorian curled in a little on himself, “So... they chose to do that, thinking I’d come home and do what they wanted me to do. It ended up with me having a huge breakdown, and Gereon and Livia taking me to live with them because I couldn’t be in the same house as Halward and Aquinea without having a panic attack.”

So now he just had to wait and see what the reaction would be, though Dorian had a feeling. There was no way Cullen would want to be around him after hearing all that.”

\----

It was too much. It was too much to fucking hear, let alone live through. As Dorian's tale unfolded, the anger Cullen felt that day when Dorian had told him just a little slice of this misery flared up again, stronger and hotter in his chest. His mind was a blank white page as rage swelled and then died, decaying into something sad and dull and painful that burned his blood and made his head pound in time with his pulse. It was… it was incomprehensible to him, how Dorian's parents had treated him as a commodity, a faulty product that required _fixing._ It made no sense to him; he had a hard time processing anything beyond that sad anger as the words tumbled out of Dorian's mouth.

So, he focused instead on the man himself. His faltering and hesitant tone, so unlike his usual bravado. The way he fidgeted, scratching and rubbing at his thigh. The way his bronze skin darkened with a deep flush, starting in his face, but spreading as he spoke to splotchy patches covering his shoulders and chest. All these things spoke to Cullen in a way that he understood. Hadn't he been there before, many times? Shame. It was shame and sadness and the uncertainty of sharing things deep in the darkness of your heart that hadn't seen the light of day for how much it hurt to let them out.

The words started making sense then, but that was cold comfort. In the end, it amounted to the fact that Dorian's parents thought him broken just for being who he was. The irony, of course, being that Dorian _wasn't_ broken, not until _they_ broke him. They'd scarred him even as they tried to _fix_ him. But even that scar didn't mean he was wrong or somehow lesser. No, even now, Dorian was still kind, had still opened himself up to Cullen and all his shit. That anyone had made Dorian feel like he _deserved_ to be ashamed set Cullen's teeth on edge… that it had been his own parents to do so broke his heart.

When Dorian stopped speaking, Cullen realized his face had grown hard and clouded, his jaw working as he grit his teeth together. That anger, it wasn't directed at Dorian. It was directed at his parents, at the state of humanity in general, really, that it could and often did turn a blind eye to this sort of thing. It was futile, though, and Cullen felt helpless. What could he possibly do or say to make this better?

_… they don't just get better… even if you want ‘em to._

No, he couldn't fix this. Not in a million years and even if he had a million tries. But he could let Dorian know that he was _here_ for him, that he heard him and he understood him and he _accepted_ him.

Moving slowly in case Dorian wasn't ready yet for more closeness, he pulled the man in, fully in his lap so Cullen could wrap around him as entirely as possible. He rested his chin on Dorian's shoulder so his lips were again close to the man's ear.

“I'm sorry,” he breathed against Dorian's skin, “No one should have to… it's too much alone. Thank the Maker you had people then,” he paused, not sure how to say what he really wanted to, unsure if there were words to describe the wash of emotions that had taken over. “... and... as long as you want me... you have me now.”

That was close, but not quite right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt like it should be _more_ somehow, stronger, deeper than his words let on.

\----

Dorian made a soft sound for that and leaned back against Cullen’s chest. Back then, Felix had been the only one to ever really offer any actual _comfort_ to him. Gereon and Livia had been right to pull him out of the house, which he appreciated, but they’d never really been able to get in that close, like Felix could. Perhaps that had been partially his own fault, since he was still reasonably distrustful of them and their motives, but it was what it was. They’d given him the space he’d needed to... well, not heal exactly but come back and then the push to move on. Felix, though, had listened when he talked and just sat with him in situations not unlike the current one. Only with less hugging. He’d appreciated it then and certainly did now.

One hand smoothed along one of Cullen’s arms, though Dorian stayed quiet for a little while, and he closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against Cullen’s cheek. He’d never really had anyone to lean on, mostly of his own design because asking people for something like that was usually a recipe for being disappointed, but it was nice to have Cullen there. It was nice to say it out loud. More than that, it was nice to say it out loud to someone who was actually a part of his life for more than a session a week.

“I…” he began, and cleared his throat for just how thick his voice sounded, “I talked to my doctor about you. About us.” Dorian lifted his head and turned to look into those gorgeous amber eyes. “I didn’t... not about anything with your past or anything, but just that I was seeing someone, and that we’d been kind of heading toward this for about a year now,” he explained, “and that it helps. Obviously it’s not going to _fix_ anything, but it helps. You help.”

Dorian turned and nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s neck, “Think we could maybe find bed, now?” he asked. Even if he didn’t sleep, he wanted them up off the floor, and bed was decidedly more comfortable. “I feel like shit and just want to lie down with you.”

\----

A smile crossed Cullen's face, small and weary, but there. He was pleased to hear that he helped, even if he didn't know _how._ Maker knew that he was inconstant at best these days, speaking little or speaking too much, often overly demonstrative at the wrong times, lacking the restraint to read the situation and reign himself in. But Dorian had said he helped, and that was enough to make him feel lighter somehow. At least, where that worry was concerned.

“Of course,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to Dorian's, “I've been… looking forward to it all day, I'll admit.” He had been. He had been because Dorian helped him, too.  It kept him going through one of the longest days he'd worked yet, and even if his arrival had played out differently than he'd imagined, this was ok, too. Dorian likely wouldn't agree, but he was glad he was here for this. The thought of Dorian suffering alone… it hurt.

It took a bit of doing, but they managed to stand, cramping muscles and backaches and all. “I'll just go turn the lights out and be right back, ok?”

He made his way out of the bedroom and took just a moment to brace himself against the wall of the entryway where the switches were, fists clenching and unclenching. He was still full of anger towards Dorian's parents, but that wasn't constructive. It wouldn't help anyone right now, so he did his best to tamp it down before he crawled into bed with Dorian.

Bolstered after that moment alone and the lights definitively switched off, he returned to the room, undressed, and slid into bed next to Dorian. “Better?” he asked as he pulled the man into his chest.

\----

Being horizontal was definitely better than lying on the cold tile, that was for sure. That said, Dorian would have pulled his arms over his head to hide a bit if he had the strength to do so. He’d _told_ Cullen. Told him. Told him without too much hesitation. It was a good thing. Logically, he knew that. It felt good to let it out there, so at least when he was distant or wrong there was an explanation for it. It wasn’t an excuse, of course, but at least Cullen would _understand_. Hopefully.

Until he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Whatever happened first. It worried him, because now he stood to lose more than a boyfriend or a lover. Those things were easy to come by, truly they were, but what Cullen was? His _confidante_. His... well, his best friend. Cullen knew more about him, understood him better, than anyone else. There was more there than the shallow fun or distant witty banter with a pile of innuendo on it. It was something real, and something he had the potential to lose should Cullen wake up and realize Dorian didn’t just have _baggage,_ but possibly his own terminal at the airport. There weren’t a lot of people who were good enough to be able to stay with that around. Dorian didn’t doubt that Cullen was one of them, he’d believe the man could sing down the moon if he tried hard enough, but the law of averages concerned him. Was it just a matter of time before it was too much piled on top of his own troubles, or was this a unicorn of a situation?

_Sometimes love isn’t enough_.

Felix had told him that a long time ago, and Dorian had worn it over his heart like a shield. It wasn’t enough to make his parents want to do the right thing, wasn’t enough to make him the son they wanted, wasn’t enough to make someone stay when the stakes got too high. Dorian could love Cullen. That was almost a reality, should he take some time to really think on it, but would his love ever be enough to make amends for all of his shortcomings? Would Cullen’s, provided the man felt that way, be enough to make him look past everything that was probably waving a hundred reg flags in his face? Dorian wanted to believe it would be. All the stories said it was. But stories, however nice, weren’t real.

And he stood to lose more than he ever had should this crash and burn like everything else seemed to eventually. The ride was worth it, of course, he’d never let anyone in this close. It was terrifying and wonderful and awful all at the same time. And then Cullen got into bed and curled him up in his arms and Dorian wanted to believe that everything really was better.

It _was_ better.

“Comfier, anyway,” he agreed and buried his face in against Cullen’s neck, “do you think you can come stay for a few nights? I just... don’t feel like sleeping alone for a while. It doesn’t matter if it’s late.”

\----

That little note of hesitation rekindled the thing inside Cullen that just said _protect._ It was almost… instinctual. He'd felt this way before, in another lifetime, when he was someone else. It was powerful, and he held Dorian tighter for it, letting one hand travel up to cradle the man's head and allow fingers to stroke gently at silky smooth hair.

“You don't even have to ask,” he began before he _remembered_ and let out a soft chuckle. “We're actually… we're done with that artist. Finished tonight. I'm all yours. For three days, at least.”

_I'm all yours._

He was. At this point, it was ridiculous to pretend otherwise. Cullen was, without a doubt, undeniably Dorian's. For longer than three days… for as long as the man would have him.

\----

A soft chuckle escaped him, which was kind of surprising, and Dorian curled a bit more into that warm body, “I’m trying to be more thrilled and less jealous,” he murmured before he slowly lifted his arms to wind around Cullen’s shoulders. That would hopefully mean they’d get more than an hour in the morning. Maybe, Maker forbid, more than just a clandestine bit of food and a kiss before everything inevitably got too late. “It’ll be good to have you back,” he went on and pressed a kiss at Cullen’s throat, “maybe now I can actually be demanding of your time, hm?”

\----

Scarred lips curled up in a little grin as Cullen closed his eyes and just enjoyed this moment, letting the feeling of Dorian’s body pressed to his round out the sharp edges the evening had cut out. “Jealous?” he laughed, low and soft, “I just said I was all yours, didn’t I? Be as demanding as you like.” He coughed and let his tone grow a shade more serious, “I mean it. If there’s something I can help with, even if it’s just going out and getting groceries, let me know.”

He pressed little kisses into Dorian’s hair and over his forehead. It had been a while, and after the evening they’d had, he wanted to turn his mind off and just enjoy the soft warmth of having Dorian in his arms.

\----

“This is good,” he answered softly, “just what I need.”

Dorian was exhausted but his mind was still working a mile a minute. It jumped back and forth between worrying about work to him telling Cullen about everything to even if asking him to go to the store was too much. It was like watching a badly edited movie where all the scenes were tense. “Just talk to me?” he asked after a while, “it’s easier to relax when I can listen to you.” That would help. If anything, losing himself in that Fereldan lilt was better than working himself up in silence again. That would happen, too, if he wasn’t careful. “About anything’s fine,” Dorian went on, “I just want to hear you.”

\----

Cullen closed his eyes and hummed as he thought, feeling the melody rumbling through his chest as his fingers continued to work, stroking Dorian's hair and massaging into his scalp. It felt good, just being _there_ with Dorian, knowing that the man wasn't alone during this. It gave him purpose, and he felt himself easing back from his own break that yesterday had seemed so imminent.

It was funny, really, when he thought about it. Just a year ago, having someone depend on him would have terrified Cullen beyond comprehension. As he told Dorian when he was falling apart in those early days, he could hardly be anything for himself, let alone for anyone else. But here he was, drawing strength from the knowledge that someone - no, not just someone, _Dorian_ \- needed him in some way.

He kept humming as he wondered what he could possibly talk about to fill the silence. He'd never thought of himself as terribly interesting, after all, and…

_Oh, stop deliberating. Just tell him about your day._

“Well,” he began, “An interesting thing happened today. So, we finally wrapped with Merrill. The last song she wanted to record, and between you and me, my favorite. Save the best for last, right?” He paused as he snuggled in closer, hooking a leg around Dorian's so they were tangled that much more together. “It's soulful, feelsy, so kind of my thing, you know. Anyway, she came in while we were practicing and heard me singing, and before I knew it, I was recording it with her. Just backing tracks on the chorus, not an actual, you know, duet, but still. I hope they use it.”

He took a breath, hoping this was actually helpful somehow, before continuing, “... because parts of it made me think of you. One of the lyrics, anyway, and the way it all came together… it was… amazing, really, to be there and to help create it. I wish I could tell you how it feels when it clicks, when it's on. Like you're... right where you need to be in that moment.”

_Right where I need to be._

“... and that's part of why I thought of you. Because that's… that's how I feel when I'm with you. Like I'm where I need to be. Like there's nowhere else _to be._ ”

Amber eyes opened at that. He was just supposed to be rambling about his day, he didn’t intend to go sappy or emotional, not when Dorian was so clearly exhausted and under so much stress. He didn’t even realize that was how the song made him feel until he said the words out loud, but there it was. Out in the open for both of them to hear.

_And why do I feel like that? I care for him; he’s the… the most important person in my life… but why, why does he feel so much like home?_

That fluttering feeling, the warmth, the comfort and happiness when Dorian was near, the way Cullen's own heart ached at the sight of Dorian in pain, the way he wanted to wrap him up and keep him safe forever... that was more than care, more than just importance. Cullen had gone far beyond the confines of just ‘You're important to me’ and ‘I care about you.’

_Maker, this is love. I love him._

Cullen's face went slack and he let out a soft exhale of breath as the enormity of that fact hit him. It was obvious now that he'd thought it; silly that he hadn't realized it before. And now that he _knew_ , everything made sense - why he could never really describe how _vital_ Dorian had actually become to him, why he was never satisfied with the lukewarm words he’d been using to try and say how he felt, why everything seemed so hard and cold when they were apart during all this. 

It took everything he had not to blurt it out right then and there. But no, no he couldn’t do that. Not while Dorian was still reeling from the attack earlier. And who knew if he felt the same? What if telling him ruined this whole thing?

“... and so I’m here. Where I want to be. With you,” he finished as his head rang with words he thought he’d never have a reason to use again.

_I love you._

\----

While Cullen spoke, Dorian let himself drift. The other man’s words washed over him like warm water. It was more just listening to the cadence of his voice and the beat of his heart that helped him block out everything in his head. Being warm and wrapped up in Cullen’s arms was nice, easy to settle himself into, and he buried his face in against that strong chest. Dorian breathed in and out, like he’d been instructed to do, and actually felt his heartbeat slow. That was something.

He didn’t say anything, just rubbed his thumb over Cullen’s arm. It was a good way to ground himself, after all. The repetitive motion over soft skin grounded him and Dorian breathed deeply. Maybe he could sleep. Maybe. Though it was easier to just listen to Cullen and not think. Eventually he’d rest when his body figured out it was okay to. Eventually.

Dorian dozed, though he didn’t sleep, with Cullen pressed up against him. As the sun rose he was finally able to slip off, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Not enough to get him through the day. He stirred, patted Cullen’s hand, and sat up a bit to rub a hand over his face. The phone was in his pants, and Dorian needed to call Josephine. He took a breath and bent down to kiss Cullen’s temple before he eased out of those warm, strong arms. “Stay in bed,” he whispered, and shakily got to his feet to grab his phone and call work.

They hadn’t liked it, but Dorian managed to push back going in until after lunch. He was relieved and when he crawled back into bed with Cullen he pulled the blankets up over his head and sighed.

\----

He'd talked into the early morning hours, until his body gave in to exhaustion and he drifted off. He wasn't sure if Dorian was listening, but his breathing had evened out eventually and he was still, so Cullen had kept going with stories from his childhood and school days and music. He was content to lay there, listening to the sound of his own voice...whatever gave Dorian what he needed to rest his mind.

Cullen sensed that Dorian had left the bed, he could hear him in the next room on the phone. It was just muffled noise to his tired mind, and he felt himself slipping back under, a vague hope that Dorian would come back, that maybe he could take a day for himself, surfacing in his mind as he began the fall back into sleep.

_I love you._

His body tensed and his eyes opened, sleep left behind for the moment. That's right. He'd realized that last night in the aftermath. At the time, he'd accepted it easily enough, letting it warm him as he continued to tell Dorian every dumb thing he could think of that was happy. In the light of morning, after a few hours of sleep, though… well, it was no less true, but it brought with it a nervousness. Uncertainty. Doubt. His heart pounded as his mind conjured up the question that he couldn't possibly ask Dorian to answer.

_But does he love you?_

He'd wait then, until Dorian was more himself. Until this miserable auction was over and things righted themselves. Once upon a time, Dorian had told him he wouldn't take advantage when Cullen was vulnerable. He wouldn't turn around and do the same thing to Dorian. He wouldn't ask him something like that while the man was emotionally vulnerable. He wouldn't take advantage.

Of course, it would probably backfire anyway, as so many things Cullen tried did, but that wasn't the point.

Cullen heard Dorian padding back into the bedroom, felt the bed shift as he slipped back between the covers, and heard him sigh. He wasn't sure what to say or how to act in the light of everything last night. He desperately wanted to know if Dorian was ok, but that was a stupid question. Nothing had magically fixed itself overnight.

He reached over and placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, letting his thumb stroke his skin. “How are you feeling? Get any rest?” he asked, voice a little hoarse for all the talking he'd done last night.

\----

“Some,” he answered softly before he rolled over to curl up against Cullen’s chest. Dorian tangled their legs together like they had been before, and he buried his face in against the soft skin of Cullen’s neck. This was what he wanted. Maybe he could sleep a bit like this. “I’m not going in until one,” he explained, “so... maybe sleep for a bit longer.”

He curled a hand in Cullen’s shirt and closed his eyes, “Thank you for staying up with me last night,” he murmured, “it helps a lot to just have something to listen to, and I quite like listening to you tell stories.” Despite how tired he was, a small smile started to spread across his lips. Though he’d drifted in and out of actually paying attention, Dorian had rather liked hearing about Cullen’s Uni days or whatever was going on at the studio. He liked that the other man offered up that part of him. “I’m sorry your first night after a long week wasn’t the best, though,” Dorian apologized, “but... thanks. It means a lot.”

\----

“Please, don't worry about it,” Cullen replied as he kissed the top of Dorian's head. The man's hair was mussed from lying in bed, and he'd likely take offense, but Cullen liked it that way. He smiled into that hair and closed his eyes. “I was… glad I could be here. Really.”

Besides, there was a time when the roles were reversed and Dorian had been there for him. Back when they were barely more than strangers and Cullen succumbed to a dark time and exhaustion, Dorian had stayed up with him, curled up around him, and hadn't asked for anything in return. So, yes, Cullen was glad he could be something Dorian needed. And if he had it his way, the man wouldn't spend another night alone in his bed… if he wanted Cullen there, he'd be there.

“... you've done the same for me,” he added softly, already falling back asleep, breathing Dorian in deeply and melting into the warmth they shared under the blankets.

\----

Dorian managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but he actually did need to get up and sort himself out. He carefully untangled himself from Cullen’s arms so he could stretch, and bent down to kiss his temple, “I’m making coffee,” he murmured softly, “you want?” Coffee and something real to eat so he could take his pills. On time. For sure. It wouldn’t improve the _situation_ but perhaps he’d feel a little more normal.

Once he was up, he pulled on a pair of pants and studied his phone. It was just after ten, which left him with about two hours. Brunch, real shower, and maybe some time to just curl up with Cullen. That would make the day better. Dorian grabbed a few of the pill bottles out of the bathroom and set to counting them as the coffee brewed, and he sighed before he grabbed a previously abandoned day-marked box so he could dole out what he needed.

He was an adult. See? He could... swallow his pride. Mostly. Dorian hated it, but he’d deal with it. Anything was better than how he’d been feeling these last few days.

\----

Vaguely, Cullen realized that Dorian had kissed him, said something about coffee, and rolled out of bed. Everything in him just wanted to stay in bed, so he just lay there for a while, listening to Dorian making coffee in the kitchen and rattling… bottles? Yes, Cullen was familiar enough with the sound to know those were the sounds of pills being shaken out of their containers. _Good_ , he thought.

He managed to get himself up, sitting on the side of the bed and rubbing his face. Maker, he was tired, down to his bones, and sore from all the hours he'd played yesterday. He stood and stretched, muscles and tendons and joints complaining, and shuffled into the kitchen, wincing and a bit stooped for how his whole body hurt. _Fucking back._

Dorian was at the counter, closing up pill bottles and snapping lids, as Cullen walked up beside him. He kissed Dorian’s cheek and grumbled, “Morning,” before he leaned his weight on the counter. “I think I need an entire pot of that,” he complained, gesturing to the coffee pot, “... and some elfroot if you have it. Please?”

_Maker, I'm always asking him for his elfroot._ He'd have to buy the man a year's worth of elfroot at this rate.

\----

“I’ll trade you coffee and elfroot for some real food,” Dorian offered as he pushed away from the counter, “I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.” That and he needed something to keep his medication from eating his stomach. “And all I want is something simple and to sit with you on the couch until I have to get ready.”

Cullen looked tired. Exhausted. Maker, they both probably did. He turned and wound his arms around Cullen’s waist so he could press his cheek against the other man’s back. Cullen was always so warm, and it was comforting. “You can stay here today, if you want,” Dorian mused after a moment, “I don’t mind. Unless you have other stuff to do, but you look like you could sleep for  while.”

\----

He could stay. It was ok. That knowledge lifted some strange weight from his shoulders, and he could suddenly breathe easier. He didn't have to go back to that apartment and lose himself in worry over whether Samson's words - _You’re going to lose it, I can already see it in your face._ \- held any truth. This was good. If he could be somewhere else, somewhere that didn't constantly remind him of who he'd become, he could avoid all that.

Plus, there was the simple happiness that Dorian trusted him, had trusted him last night with his story, and trusted him now to just… stay. That was something even Mia had stopped doing at the end, though, truth be told, he'd given her ample reason. It was more important to Cullen than Dorian could possibly know, having that trust between them.

“Oh, I could sleep for days,” Cullen chuckled softly, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of Dorian being so close, “I'll try not to feel guilty if I do nap. Maker knows you need it more than I do… and thank you.”

His eyes strayed to the pill organizer in front of them. An odd mix of sadness and happiness squeezed in at the sight. Sadness because it reminded him of the reason the man needed to do this, those awful people who called themselves his parents and the truly horrible place they'd sent him to. But there was happiness, too. Happiness, bordering on pride, that Dorian was taking care of himself, continuing to move forward. That took courage, a strength Cullen admired. Another reason to love the man.

But he didn't know how to say all that, or if any of that would help or hurt. So, he simply turned, wincing briefly at the pain in his back that flared up when he moved, and kissed Dorian as gently as he could.

“You're a good man, and a good man deserves _at least_ eggs and toast for breakfast,” he grinned, “Have your coffee and get showered. I'll see what I can rustle up.”

\----

“Maker, eggs _and_ toast?” Dorian teased with feigned shock, “whatever have I done to deserve both?” He smiled then and wound his arms around Cullen’s neck so he could be close for long moment. A shower sounded perfect, but Dorian also really didn’t feel like moving. He was still feeling a little raw and bruised, and Cullen’s warmth and strength made him feel better.

He sighed and moved away after a while then and rubbed both hands over his face, “Won’t be long,” Dorian told him. With a small smile he turned to go, but casually reached out a hand to land a playful smack against Cullen’s backside. It was all in good fun, after all, and Dorian smirked a bit before he headed for the bathroom so he could wash off both the day before and last night. That would probably make him feel a lot better.

\----

A lopsided grin formed on Cullen's face as he he watched Dorian leave the room. It was heartening that the man felt ok enough to joke around. Very. Cullen moved into the kitchen proper, thoughts turning to breakfast as he grabbed a glass of water to wash down two elfroot tabs. That done, he set about making an easy breakfast, hands moving of their own accord as his mind wandered. His blood still boiled when he thought of what he'd learned last night, and he really didn't want to thrash through how he himself had been feeling the past few days, so he focused on more pleasant things.

He had three days fully off. Three days to be with Dorian, in whatever capacity, after he was out of work in the evenings. It sounded nice. Normal. Like heaven. His mind kept itself busy, thinking of what they might do with their time, and before long, he was singing to himself as he worked dicing onions and scrambling eggs. He even forgot the pain in his back for a while, so caught up in his little fantasy of domestic bliss was he.

_Well, of course, I'll cook. Maybe dinner tonight. And we can go out one night if he's up for it. And then I'll probably sit in the living room and play while he does his thing. It'd be nice to have some time to just be together. And then maybe I can find some way to tell him…_

There was a little spike in his heart rate and the singing stopped. _Tell him._ Wasn't there someone else he should talk to first, though? Someone he hadn't spoken with in nearly six years. Someone who had been his rudder once, never steering him wrong.

Yes, he'd tell _her_ about Dorian first, about how Dorian wasn't taking her spot, not really. He had just made Cullen's heart that much larger to burrow out his own place. Just as big. Just as warm. Just as real.

Happy with his decision, the singing picked up, and he went back to work on breakfast, smiling softly, feeling a little anxious to visit her after so long, but glad he was going to.

\----

It wasn’t that long of a shower, though Dorian could have definitely used it. He didn’t have as much time as he would have liked this morning, and he wanted to still be able to sit with Cullen and eat before he had to get completely ready. When he was clean and dry he pulled on something comfortable to lounge in, which now included a holey and slightly overlarge maroon shirt Cullen had left one of the first times he’d stayed. Dorian rather liked to wear it, to revel in the softness of it and how it wrapped around him just as nicely as the man himself, when he was in need of a bit of a... emotional hug? Something like that. It was comforting and he liked it, so he wore in. Besides, he liked how the sleeves hung a bit over his hands so he could tangle himself up in it.

Dorian padded back toward the kitchen and smiled as he took in the scent of cooking food. His stomach growled and he sighed. Real food. Food from home. Food made by someone who cared. Yes, taking this morning off had been the best idea. He didn’t feel back to rights completely yet, but he was certainly getting there.

“Smells good,” he commented a he came up to rest his chin on Cullen’s shoulder, “really good.”

\----

The feeling of Dorian against his back, warm and fresh from the shower, brought Cullen out of his thoughts with a chuckle. “Yes, this is definitely a culinary masterpiece. Scrambled eggs avec onion.” He turned a bit to smile at Dorian, “Grab some plates and…”

_Maker, he's wearing my shirt._

Cullen's brows lifted and a wide grin plastered itself across his face. The sight of Dorian almost swallowed in his old shirt made his insides melt and his heart skip a beat. It was just so… sweet, and Cullen thought his chest might just burst from it. Without a word, he turned the burner off, turned, and pulled Dorian into a tight embrace.

“I wondered where this had gone…” Cullen said through his smile. Maker damn it, he couldn't help but grin like an idiot.

\----

“Did you?” he asked with a chuckle, “I can give it back to you, if you want.” One hand smoothed along Cullen’s back and Dorian turned to kiss at his neck, “though I’m starting to get pretty partial to it myself.”

\----

“No, no,” Cullen replied quickly, “Finders keepers. Treat it gently. Poor thing’s on its last legs.” He straightened with a cough, aware that his cheeks were likely pink and his face still wore that ridiculous grin. He didn’t care. At this point, it was obvious the effect Dorian had on him. There was no use in trying to hide it.

He pulled a little at the shirt’s collar, long shapeless from washing and wear, taking advantage of how close they remained to steal a quick kiss. “So… breakfast?”

\----

Dorian nodded and ruffled his fingers through Cullen’s hair, “Breakfast,” he agreed and leaned up for one more quick kiss before he went to fill a plate and a mug of coffee. This had been what he’d wanted for a while: just some time together to sit and relax. The food helped, but mostly Dorian just wanted to be somewhere comfortable where he could let his brain shut off. When he had everything, including the small pile of pills, he went to sit on the couch. Just having something in his stomach was certainly better than how a lot of other days had started.

\----

As they ate and chatted a bit, Cullen snuck sidelong glances over at Dorian. The man was clearly beyond worn out, and he looked it - no surprise considering his workload and the events of the previous evening - but he was still beautiful, still his Dorian. As they talked, their conversation grew more normal, bit by bit, but there was still that ragged quality to Dorian’s voice that told Cullen he was still feeling a bit… lost? Out of sorts, at least, and Cullen desperately wanted to do something for him, anything, that would bring a real smile back to the man’s face, one that actually reached his eyes. Nothing was more breathtaking than the sight of those grey eyes lit up with a true smile. Cullen would have done anything to make that happen.

“I was thinking,” he began as he put his empty plate on the coffee table and relaxed back into the couch, mug of coffee in hand, “I could cook us some dinner tonight. A bit of comfort food and a quiet evening, just us. What do you think?”

\----

Dinner would be good. Anything that didn’t come out of the freezer or from a restaurant would be good. More than that, not trying to jam in some time to eat was what Dorian was genuinely looking forward to. A real meal, at dinnertime, made at home almost sounded like something _normal._ It hadn’t been that long, but normal felt light years away. He ran a hand through his hair, which was drying and fluffy without any product in it, and Dorian nodded.

“Dinner would be nice,” he agreed, “though I feel bad for making you cook on your night off.”

\----

“Please,” Cullen laughed, “You aren't making me do anything.” He leaned forward and kissed Dorian's cheek. “I want to.”

And he did. Already his mind was working up a list of what he could prepare and whether it was too… cliché to also have maybe some candles and flowers. And maybe if he was still getting everything together when Dorian got home, he could draw a bath and just let the man relax for a while before dinner. Though Cullen knew the vast majority of that was a fantasy… Dorian would still likely have piles of work to do and probably wouldn't have more free time than it took to eat. Still, it was a nice little idea, and one he decided to keep in his back pocket for when all this was over. He just wanted the next three nights to be as easy as possible. As easy as Cullen had the power to make them, anyway.

So at least dinner, and he'd leave Dorian to work in peace. “Any special requests? Though, fair warning, my repertoire is incredibly Fereldan.”

\----

“Anything,” he answered, “though maybe not casserole. The ones you did the other day were great, but that’s all I ate for four days.” Dorian was blushing a bit, if only because he had never had anyone _cook_ for him. His family had people for that, as did Gereon and Livia, and when he’d moved out from there, he lived off of takeout and whatever easy things he could manage until he’d made himself sit down with some recipe books and do it for himself. So he’d learned, and was... reasonably alright at it, but Dorian had never known what it was like to have someone cook for him. Ever, actually. “I don’t know that I’ve ever sat down and eaten a meal with someone like this,” he commented, “other than maybe a dinner party.” The few times Cullen had done it before had been an agreed upon at-home date night. Dorian would sit at the counter and watch, chop or stir when asked, but coming home to something made by someone who cared about him? That was completely foreign to him.

\----

“Get used to it,” Cullen replied with a little wink and let his hand rest on Dorian's knee. “Cooking is one of the two things I'm reasonably skilled at.” He leaned back again and took a long swallow of coffee. It was bolstering, which was good, as he had no actual intent to go back to sleep after Dorian left. There were too many things to do, too many things he wanted to do. Maker help him, he was getting excited over a simple dinner, and part of him wished he'd kept it secret, a little surprise for when Dorian got home. Ah well. At least what he chose to cook was still an unknown. “So, a surprise then,” he chuckled, “I'll make do.”

He took a moment to watch Dorian, face wearing a soft smile at the satisfaction he felt being able to do at least this much for him. _I will help him however I can. That's how I'll show him… for now. Until I can tell him._

\---- 

He chuckled for that and flopped over so he could lie across Cullen’s lap for a while. There was still a bit of time until he had to get ready, and being vertical wasn’t really what Dorian wanted right now. As it was, he was going to have to go in and pretend that everything was alright. He wanted to put that off for as long as possible.

Sadly, the time moved quickly and Dorian _did_  have to get up and get ready. He got to his feet, kissed Cullen’s temple, and padded off back toward the living room to pick something out to wear and get his hair and face sorted out. At least the bit of makeup and coiffed hair made him look like he had everything together, anyway, and the suit helped. No one would know, save for Cullen, what had happened the night before. He was still so tired, though, and when he was dressed he went back out to pour the rest of the coffee into a travel mug for the train ride. He’d need as much of that as he could get.

“I’ll message you when I’m getting ready to leave, hm?” he asked, “probably...ten after five?” Dorian smiled, “I’m already looking forward to tonight.”

\----

Cullen followed Dorian to the door, sad to see him go and, yes, already looking forward to that evening, as Dorian had said. At the door, he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and kissed him, something slow and warm and gentle to see him off. He ran a hand down Dorian’s arm as they parted. “I’ll be here. Have a good day and be safe.”

As soon as the door closed, Cullen showered and got ready for his day. He had much to do and not many hours in which to do it. He crafted a list of to dos in his head happily as he locked the door behind him and made his way down to catch a cab. The first item on his list was… heavy, and his heart pounded as the car took him closer and closer to _her_ , stopping once at a florist’s so he could buy a bouquet of her favorite flowers. He had a lot to say to Ella, so many things to catch her up on. So many things to apologize for. And he needed to tell her about Dorian, about the way he made Cullen feel and about how his newly discovered love for the man wasn’t a replacement for his love for her - it was an addition, an expansion of his heart. He was lucky, really, to have found that feeling not once in his life, but twice… and with two wholly remarkable and extraordinary people.

The ride back was calm, even if he spent a good deal of it sniffling and wiping at his eyes. He’d gotten a lot off his chest, and it felt good. He’d thought it would be painful, and much of it was, but it was overall a… cleansing experience. Just showing up at her grave lifted more guilt than he thought possible. He left feeling lighter than he arrived, promising to return soon, and ready to let whatever developed between him and Dorian happen with a clear conscience. 

The rest of the day was a flurry of activity. He’d spent a long time with Ella, so he only had a few hours left before Dorian said he’d text. One whirlwind trip to the grocery store found Cullen back at Dorian’s, unloading what he bought for that evening as well as several other things he noticed Dorian needed. It wasn’t quite time to start, so he busied himself cleaning, singing to himself and grinning all the while, his mind mapping out all the ways the evening could go. Of course, all the scenarios in his head ended up with them curled around each other, nodding off to sleep in safety and warmth, and that thought made him flush, even now. There was nothing better than drifting off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Dorian’s heartbeat. Nothing.

Impatient and fidgety, Cullen decided it would probably be safe to start dinner around 4:30. He worked deliberately, focusing on the task at hand so as to make sure the meal was delicious… or at least satisfying. He was so engrossed in the prep and the cooking and thinking of an evening with Dorian that he didn’t even notice he had a message until everything was simmering and didn’t need his immediate attention.

Humming to himself, he grinned when he saw the notification light. _That’ll be Dorian saying he’s on his way!_ He thought with a broad smile, only slightly embarrassed for how he practically skipped to the coffee table to grab his phone. _Tonight will be good. We won’t let any of the bad in and we’ll just be together._

Cullen scooped his phone off the table and unlocked it to see when Dorian would be home.

_Oh._

  _[Dorian (4:54PM)] apparently i need to make up the time i took this morning. wont get out of here til 8, probably. can we do dinner when i get home? so sorry. fucking...im so mad._


	19. Old Friends, Old Wounds [1 of 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old flame reaches out to Dorian and Cullen struggles to find the right time to tell Dorian how he feels.

It had been a very good few months. That stint of extra responsibility for work, despite nearly destroying Dorian’s psyche, had morphed into something more manageable yet still with an air of almost-promotion. Josephine and Leliana had been pleased with his work, his ability to manage, and were steadily giving him more and more to do. (“That was the gauntlet,” Leliana had told him, “the worst it would probably be, and you handled it better than a lot of people.”) He could almost smell a raise on the horizon and hopefully the title of University Liaison and Master of Collections. That was an impressive thing to put on a business card, after all. He might even have it framed.

Then, a very strange week. Well, no, it was blessedly normal. Cullen’s hours fluctuated depending on who was in the studio and what their timetable was, but neither of them had been so busy that it completely wrecked them. Thank the Maker for small miracles, after all, and he’d been staying with Dorian most nights. The key he’d offered came in handy, especially when he was gently woken up at night with those strong arms and equally strong chest curling up with him in bed. It was the safest he’d ever felt, though he didn’t voice that for fear that it might come crashing down again. Instead, it was a weird _day_ in the form of an email from an address he hadn’t recognized.

That said, the owner of it could have only been one person.

_From: agrilienus@apexindustries.tev_

_To: dorpav_collections@nightingalearthouse.fer_

_(Received: 5:49AM)_

 

_D-_

 

_I hope you don’t mind, but I got your email from Felix. Then swore him to secrecy, even though I have a feeling he didn’t listen. He seemed a bit cagey when I asked. I’ll be in Ferelden on business next week, near you from what the maps say, and was sort of hoping we might meet for drinks. It’s been too long and I’d like to see you, if I could._

 

_Please say yes._

_-R_

 

Dorian had stared hard at it for what felt like hours. It came in at a disgustingly early hour, which was Rilienus at his best. The man did more before nine in the morning than most people did all day. It felt right, like it was actually him and maybe not some dupe set up by his parents. That, of course, was always an option. Since Felix’s last mention of them he’d kept an eye out for anything weird, though nothing had really come of it. This... this was weird. 

_Rilienus_.

It was actually impossible. Dorian hadn't seen him in almost a decade, really. He’d torn up the wedding invitation he’d gotten, swore to any and everyone that he wouldn’t ‘just be polite’ and go to watch the man he’d loved since he was a child marry... a _woman_. Scratch that, it wasn’t even the fact that it was a woman (even though Rilienus was as gay as gay came, Dorian would have known), but the fact that he was marrying just because his parents had _told him to_. It went against everything they’d ever believed in, back when they still believed in anything together, and it made Dorian _hate him_. Even now, though he’d mellowed in the last few years, he hated that all it took was the ever-promised Magisterium seat and an upper-management position in his father’s firm to undo _everything_. Dorian had walked away, though not unscathed, so it was possible.

They’d had _plans_. Then nothing. Then even less than nothing. And now? Now he wanted to meet for drinks completely out of nowhere.

He’d chewed on it for most of the day. Dorian had opened the email a hundred times, started a hundred different replies that varied from ‘yes, of course’ to ‘fuck you and the private jet you’re probably riding in on!’ He had no idea how to answer. He didn’t even know how or where to begin, and it ate at him. There was the thought to mention it to Sera, who knew a bit about his past with the man, or Felix. Maker _damn_ Felix, but Dorian knew Rilienus better than anyone (or had, once upon a time) and knew he could be either disarmingly charismatic enough to get what he wanted or a bully. Whichever had worked on Felix, Dorian had no idea. He’d been back in the hospital these last few days, so their contact was minimal. Maybe he’d planned to tell him. Maybe not. 

It leaked into his mood at home. Dorian was quiet through most of dinner, which Cullen had made for them. He was grateful, always, and pressed a slightly distracted kiss against that mop of blond curls as they cleared the plates. He felt stricken, paralyzed with indecision, and it wasn’t something he liked. Of course there was the part of him that wanted to agree, wanted to make amends, but there was the part of him that was terrified. What if it was a ploy? Or worse, what if it was just another... distraction. Something to derail everything again. Rilienus was good for that. He was forever the oncoming train in Dorian’s life that he had to either dodge or be hit by.

That wasn’t a good feeling.

\----

Something was wrong. Cullen could tell something was wrong, even though Dorian hadn't said anything… and that was the problem. They'd ate in a heavy silence, punctuated by Cullen's attempts to draw the man into conversation. He told him about his night at the studio and how Isabela and Garrett had finally hooked up. Nothing. He'd asked about Dorian's day and got… not much more than nothing. Dorian was in a different world right now, and it wasn't the comfortable sort of “you do your thing while I do mine” that had become the norm on the nights Cullen was off but Dorian had work. For one, there was no work. If it weren't for that kiss, Cullen could almost believe he was invisible.

It was… well, maybe it was a bad day. Maybe that was all. Their time together since that awful auction had driven Dorian into a panic had been… good, if still a little uneasy. Uneasy for Cullen because he still held on to that knowledge - _I love you_ \- without sharing. He still held on to the fear that maybe he was the only one feeling that. They'd found a routine, yes, but that meant that they hadn't _moved_ anywhere. Cullen didn't want to destroy even that, though, by being the only fool in love.

_Maker, what if he's bored with me now?_

It was an unpleasant thought, but one that haunted him ever since… well, Frederic. They'd made amends, come to an understanding, but he couldn't really let it go. It was just one more thing to agonize over when he was alone with himself.

_What if I'm not enough._

_Of course you're not enough._

He shook his head as he washed the dishes that Dorian brought him. That line of thinking wasn't helpful, not at all. They cleaned as they'd eaten… in silence, until, finally, Cullen couldn't take it. He wasn't supposed to feel so alone when he was with Dorian. Dorian was supposed to make that feeling go away.

He finished with the dishes and went to the living room where Dorian was sitting and not really watching the TV. “Hey,” he started softly as he sat in his space next to the man, reaching to entwine their fingers together as they usually did. “Is everything ok? Something feels… off.”

\----

Dorian blinked, shaken from his thoughts by that warm hand and soft voice, and turned to look at Cullen “Hm?” he asked, then let out a soft breath and moved in closer to rest his head against a broad shoulder. Despite the racing thoughts that passed through his head, ones that he only caught one out of three in completion, he did did actually feel better when Cullen was close. He was lost in his own head, memories and thoughts collided until he could hardly keep them separate, and he was actually very glad for that warmth beside him.

“I’m alright,” he answered, though he nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s collarbone, “I just got a weird email today, and it’s been on my mind. I don’t mean to ignore you.” The hand not wrapped in Cullen’s lifted to curl around the other man’s waist so he could be closer, “it’s one of those things where I don’t know if it’s better to answer or just ignore it.”

\----

Being this close, having Dorian curl into him like that, it helped ease Cullen's mind. He shifted to wrap an arm around the man's shoulder, letting his thumb stroke gentle lines there.

_It's just a weird day. Stop thinking everything is falling apart all the time._

It was hard to do that, even now. The greater the happiness, the harder the fall when it was over, after all. The fear of that fall had Cullen scared to tell Dorian how he knew he felt now. He was frozen in place. All he could do was this. Try and show him. Try and be here for him on weird days.

“Mind telling me? Maybe I can help,” he offered. “Or is it work stuff?”

\----

Dorian thought on that for a moment. How did he tell Cullen about that? Then again, how had he told him about his family? It was another in a long line of shit in his life, but what he was learning was that Cullen did try to help him through it. Being honest was something that just came with the territory. “So... usually Felix is sort of the gatekeeper when it comes to anyone from Tevinter wanting to get in touch with me,” he offered, “but he’s back in the hospital again, and I haven’t really heard from him. I wouldn’t expect him to act like my secretary when he’s laid up like that, but…”

He sighed and slid a hand up under Cullen’s shirt so he could touch that warm skin, “I got an email from someone I knew... years ago. He said he got my email from Felix and is going to be in town for business and wants to get drinks and catch up.” Dorian couldn’t tell if it sounded suspect just from the explanation, if he was honest. It sounded like a normal thing people did, despite the fact that Dorian knew it was anything but. “I haven’t seen him in years. Our... well, it wasn’t really an amicable situation at the time, and I’m a little worried as to why he wants to see me now. I’m worried it might be something from my parents, but it might also not be, and I’m not entirely sure which is more concerning: if it is or if it’s not.”

\----

Ah, then Dorian's mood made sense. Someone just popping up from the past, from a past like _Dorian’s_ , well, it would have been enough to send Cullen running. The times he thought he recognized an old student at the station came to mind, and his palms grew sweaty with remembered fear.

He was glad this didn't upset Dorian farther than being a little distant at dinner. He was talking now, though, openly, and that was a good thing. It was an _important_ thing.

Still. Someone from Tevinter? Somewhere, deep inside, Cullen knew that not everyone from Tevinter was as manipulative and just plain evil as he now thought Dorian's parents. Dorian wasn't, and apparently, neither was this Felix. But two people’s names on a page left a lot of white space, and Cullen immediately felt distrust for whoever this was who'd suddenly decided drinks with Dorian was on his list of to-dos. It sounded like there was history there, painful history, if Dorian's story was anything to go by, and Cullen felt that urge in him to protect rising.

_Don't go._ He wanted to say. But if Felix trusted him enough to share Dorian's email address…

“That's… tough,” he answered, “Maker, the past always is, isn't it?” He kissed the top of Dorian's head and gave him a squeeze. “It's hard to ignore that your parents may have sent him, though. Is that something they've done before?”

\----

“Not like this,” he answered, “Father’s hired people to investigate, to make me talk to him, but they’ve never sent anyone I _knew_. And I know for a fact that if they picked anyone it _wouldn’t_ be him.”

He trailed his fingers along Cullen’s hip and sighed. To ignore it would only make him wonder ‘what if,’ but answering would only fuel the fact that he’d acknowledged the other man’s existence. “I don’t know,” Dorian admitted, “usually it would be easy to just not engage. I’m good at that. And it just infuriates me that it’s _him_ , you know? He’s the definition of ‘that’s just how it is, Dorian’ when it’s something that he benefits from. We used to talk, back in Uni, about how fucked up it all was and then he just went back on all of it when his parents dangled his trust fund in front of him. I thought he was _better_ than that.”

Maker, it made him so angry. He’d been the catalyst to so many things, part of the _plan_. Halward and Aquinea used Rilienus against him, told him that he was the reason he was being sent to that awful place, and when he’d come back, he was engaged to someone else and _happy about it_. Dorian had been so stupid then. So, so stupid. So stupid and young and idealistic.

“I think I’m dithering because nothing would amuse me more than him wanting to apologize,” Dorian went on, “he wouldn’t, I don’t think, but it’s one of those fantasies you have, you know? Where you get to say ‘I was right, you were wrong, and I told you so’ all at once.”

\----

“... it sounds like maybe you want closure? Would that help?”

Cullen could understand that. Loose ends ate at you if you let them. Sometimes, even things that should be closed, things you were supposed to have moved on from, still swung open, tearing at the heart at unexpected times. And it sounded like whoever this was had been important to Dorian. Cullen had never heard Dorian speak of anyone with this much… passion? Outside of his parents, no one got to him like this.

Which begged the question… what did Dorian need to close? Who had this man been to him?

“Maybe he just wants to be… friends again.” The word 'friends' came out like a question, and he meant it that way, Maker help him.

\----

That was a situation Dorian wasn’t sure he could handle. It would be nice to hear Rilienus beg for his friendship back, but there was no way it would ever happen. That scar was too big and the hurt was far too deep. Dorian knew himself too well, knew that a friendship would be too much and not enough all at once, and it wasn’t right to put himself in that situation. Even from all the way in Tevinter with his wife and probably a kid or two now, Dorian knew that was a bad idea.

“Maybe,” he agreed softly and buried his face in against Cullen’s chest, “even though I’m not entirely sure I could forgive him.” Dorian breathed the smell of Cullen in, the scent of soap and cologne and that part of him that was masculine and wonderful, and sighed. He didn’t _need_ Rilienus back in his life.

That hit him like a train. Well, it hit him like the train he so often tried to dodge. He didn’t _need_ Rilienus or his... friendship or love or whatever. The man had been his friend since he was a child, his lover for years, and he’d just... left. He was also spoiled and content to be given the best instead of working for it. Dorian didn’t _need_ that. He’d worked hard to surround himself with people that wanted more, wanted better, and the truth was that Rilienus wasn’t _better_.

Cullen, however, was.

“He wouldn’t talk to me... after,” Dorian mused, “something about not being able to be seen talking to someone like _me_ that had to be sent away for _that_. Now he wants to get drinks like we’re still best mates at school. I just don’t... I don’t understand it.”

\----

Best mates then. Not that it _should_ have mattered either way, but Cullen felt muscles relax that had tensed. If that’s what this was, a friend from years ago who’d made an awful mistake, maybe closure would be good. It was hard to overlook that this man had distanced himself from Dorian for his being sent to that fucking awful _therapy_ his parents forced on him, but maybe he’d come around in the years since college. Maybe he’d changed. It was possible. Cullen had to believe it was possible.

“He sounds like he was an awful shit,” Cullen offered as he let his thumb run over the hand he still held, liking the feel of the smooth metal of the plain silver band that circled Dorian’s thumb. “... but even awful shits can turn a corner. At least, I hope they can, for my sake,” he chuckled, but the sound was a bit sad, “... maybe that’s what this is? If your friend Felix trusted him?”

\----

“That would be the hope,” Dorian agreed with a nod before he nudged Cullen, “and _you_ are not an awful shit. Or, at least, not anymore as you said.” He leaned up and kissed a stubbled cheek, “I’ll think on it.” That was the best thing for it, anyway. “Thank you for letting me complain, though.” The arm around Cullen’s waist tightened and Dorian buried his face in against that strong and solid chest, “it helps to talk with you about it.”

It was nice to have someone he trusted. Maybe it wasn’t the _whole_ story, but Dorian had a feeling that telling the whole story would only upset Cullen. That situation with Frederic was still fresh in his mind, and Dorian wouldn’t put Cullen through another situation where his more callous choices jeopardized this thing between them.

“Have I told you how glad I am that I met you?” Dorian asked softly, “because I am. I thank the Maker for it every day.”

\----

Oh. Oh, hearing Dorian say that made Cullen just melt. It was, well it was like music to his ears. Dorian was thankful for _him_. Somehow.

_I should tell him now. Tell him._

No. No, it wouldn't be right. Probably. Not on the heels of something that had upset him like that. Cullen thought it best right now to hold Dorian more tightly and continue to keep his secret until it was right.

But it had been months now that he'd known. Months of waiting for things to be right. Months of just… never having the courage to change things in the way those three words surely would. There was always something in the way.

“Not in as many words,” he replied with a smile, “but, please, feel free to tell me as often as you like.” He thought on that for a moment before adding, “And anything else. I'll always listen, you know that.”

_Because I love you._

\----

“Mm,” he made a happier kind of sound for that. It chased away the worry. Dorian could deal with it tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to wrap himself in the good feeling of being there like that. There had been too much bad in their time together, and Dorian didn’t want any more. “Tell me again about your day,” he prompted before he leaned up to press a long and sound kind of kiss against Cullen’s lips, “I feel bad that I wasn’t listening before. You said Garrett and Isabella finally hooked up, yes? I imagine they were both looking incredibly smug.”

Dorian settled himself in against Cullen again, though this time with his chin resting on the man’s shoulder so he could look up at him. He enjoyed just talking, enjoyed hearing the small things about Cullen’s days, and it helped clear his mind of the looming decision he had to make. This was good. This was what he’d always _wanted_.

\----

“ _Smug_ doesn't quite do it justice,” Cullen laughed before he dove into the story again, going into more detail now that Dorian seemed interested. They spent the rest of the evening like that, just chatting and laughing at whatever dumb thing was on TV and just being _together._ And later, after playful kisses turned into something serious, they took their time finding release, moving together in the soft darkness of night.

Cullen lay awake after, holding Dorian close against his chest, feeling his warm breath against his skin as the man dropped off to sleep. Cullen couldn't have been happier than he was in that moment. He'd helped just by listening. He'd been useful to the man in his arms, maybe not in a way that led to a decision about meeting the man who had been Dorian's friend once, but he'd helped soothe the nerves the need for that decision had agitated. It was a small thing, really, something all caring couples did, but that's what made it so special to him.

He smiled, slow and sleepy, and mouthed the same words he'd mouthed silently every night he'd lain with Dorian since he knew they were truth.

One day, maybe soon, the time would be right to put a voice to them.

\----

_To: agrilienus@apexindustries.tev_

_From: dorpav_collections@nightingalearthouse.fer_

_(Sent: 3:12PM)_

 

_R-_

 

_One drink. There’s a bar not far from the office. Let me know the day. Safe travels._

 

_-D_

Dorian had waited until after he’d had breakfast, lunch, and most of a full day to really sit and contemplate this situation. He’d settled on a one drink limit, if only because having a firm hand was the only way to make something like this work. Control was key, and Dorian needed to have it. He wasn’t about to let Rilienus have the upper hand. There. Satisfying.

_From: agrilienus@apexindustries.tev_

_To: dorpav_collections@nightingalearthouse.fer_

_(Received: 3:27PM)_

 

_D-_

 

_Took you damn long enough to get back. Wednesday. DrinkS. See you then._

 

_-R_

Ugh, the fucker was just as smug as ever. It made a bolt of electricity work down Dorian’s spine, and he was practically frothing at the mouth for the rest of the afternoon. Once five hit, Dorian practically ran out of work and quickly caught the first train he could, then made his way home. He wanted a glass of wine, something to nibble on, and as much of Cullen a the man was willing to give. Too much thinking about this, thinking about _back then_. Wasn’t healthy. Dorian wanted to live in the here and now with his happy life and gloriously thoughtful partner. 

Partner. As in the person Dorian _shared_ this shit with. Not the type who just... left. Cullen wasn’t a leaver. Cullen was good and sweet and kind. Cullen wouldn’t hurt him, not ever on purpose anyway, and it was an admirable quality. Dorian appreciated it.

No. He loved it. And he could love Cullen. Maybe he did. Certainly he cared for him more than he had anyone else, but thinking of that on top of this situation wasn’t fair. Once this was over, once he’d heard what Rilienus wanted, he would think about it more. It had been encroaching on his brain more and more these last few months, and perhaps it was time to pay attention and... see about it.

He pushed open the door to the flat and immediately toed out of hi shoes. “Anyone home?” Dorian called, in the event Cullen was in the bedroom. If he was, Dorian had every plan to join him.

\----

“Hey, I’m in here,” Cullen returned from the bedroom. He’d just gotten in himself. It’d been a long day at the studio, really, and it was cold, so as soon as the door closed behind him, he had gone directly to his little bit of Dorian’s closet to pull out something warm and comfy. Pajamas, in other words. He was just changing shirts when Dorian came in. “I was about to get started on some dinner,” he called, “How was your day?”

\----

Dorian crossed into the bedroom and grinned when he saw Cullen half in and out of a shirt. Maker, the man was far too attractive. “It... was,” he answered, and moved in to wind his arms around Cullen’s shoulders, “Please, don’t get dressed on my account. In fact, I think you should do the opposite.” He leaned up and kissed Cullen then, something long and heated and loving, and leaned against him so they were pressed together from chest to groin.

He kissed Cullen again, tongue dipping out to taste his lips and Dorian pressed himself closer. He needed this. He needed to just... _be_ with Cullen now. “I need you,” was his soft plea, “Cullen, please.”

\----

_I need you_. _Please._

A low groan rumbled up from Cullen’s chest, “Maker, yes.”

Dorian's words circled his head, and he pressed back with all he had, allowing himself to get lost in the touch and scent and taste of Dorian. The long day and the cold was forgotten in an instant, and he was taken aback by how much he suddenly needed Dorian, too. He pressed harder, taking one step, and then another until Dorian's back was against the wall. One hand moved slowly up the man's chest to first cup his face as they kissed, then gently incline his head so Cullen could run his mouth and teeth over his throat.

He was hungry. But it wasn't dinner he wanted anymore.

\----

Maker help him, but Cullen really was showing him that sex could be just as important as sharing a bed. Dorian loved how intimate it felt. The man completely undid him and left him completely, just... sated in every way until all he could do was snuggle in against that warm body and try to remember how to breathe. Sometimes it was fast and hard and rough, which Dorian liked, but sometimes (a lot of the time) it was low and slow and burned hotter than he could ever remember feeling.

Yes. Yes, he could love Cullen. He could love the man who made him love himself when they were together.

Later, once the sun had set and they lay together with Dorian tucked in against Cullen’s side, he finally sighed and wound his arm around that pale torso. That was what he’d needed. He needed that closeness, that intimacy, and he needed it with _Cullen_. Just Cullen. No one else had ever been, or ever would be, as good as he was.

“Can we order in for dinner?” he asked softly, “I don’t want to move.”

\----

Cullen chuckled and kissed Dorian's forehead, “I don't know if I _can_ move. That was quite a greeting.”

He'd gotten swept up in Dorian's own need, lost in sensations for a while, but now that his mind had cleared, he wondered at what brought it on. It… it wasn't strange for Dorian to say what he wanted, but that was just it. Desires were usually phrased that way - I want. But this time, he'd said _need_ , and he'd said it in a way that seemed, well like it was true. Like he really did need it. Cullen.

Part of him was undeniably pleased, but another part was wondering… _what's wrong?_

He dragged his fingers from where his hand rested at Dorian's hip up his back and shoulders to press against black waves of hair, tucking Dorian's head into his chest. It was... protective. He just wanted wrap the man up and never leave this warmth.

“Not that I'm complaining. That was,” he cleared his throat, “wonderful. But what brought that on?”

\----

He shrugged, “I was thinking of you today,” and mouthed kisses along Cullen’s jaw, “thinking about how good you are. And about how I’ve never really known anyone like you before.” Dorian smiled then, that small and private kind of smile reserved only for Cullen, “and I needed this. And you. No reason for it.”

\----

“How good I am?” Cullen repeated, closing his eyes and enjoying every one of those kisses. “Surely, you were thinking of someone else.”

_Good, huh?_ He used to be a good man, but that was a description he'd never have used, not now. He was _trying_ to be, of course, and he had his moments, but his track record - not to mention arrest record - didn't bear that out. The potential was there, he knew, but he was still weak when he was alone with himself. But Dorian, Dorian made him feel stronger, like maybe he could be… _good._ Like maybe he could be worthy again.

And now Dorian's words and kisses and warmth were drawing him into that soft, gentle place where everything felt right.

_Right._.. _Now? Is now the time?_

“Dorian, I…,” Cullen's voice had lost that teasing tone it had earlier. It was low and shook a bit, and he took a long breath as grey eyes studied him. “I think I…” His heart pounded as he cleared his throat, “What I mean is, I…”

_Fucking say it._

“I think I know which of us is the good one here, and I'm just… I'm so, so happy we're together.”

_Weak. Why can't I do this?_

\----

That made him smile, and Dorian leaned up to press his forehead against Cullen’s. The way his voice shook, how sincere he sounded, was always so good. It made warmth bloom in Dorian’s chest and lower. The fact that Cullen hardly went to any pains to hide his feelings, didn’t keep them behind a mask of just a playful smile and with the intention of making Dorian jump through hoops to get him, it was altogether unlike anything he’d ever known.

“I am too,” he agreed. He was sleepy now, and the feeling of Cullen’s skin against his own made him want to drift off and sleep all night. “You make me very happy,” Dorian murmured, “very, very happy.”

\----

_Except I'm a damn coward,_ he thought, even as he let out a content sigh and allowed himself to shift down into that warm place Dorian created for him. Even if he couldn't _say_ the words, it didn't make them any less _true,_ so he just held Dorian closer, kissed his forehead, gentle, and closed his eyes.

Even without the words, this was good. Better than he deserved and more than he could ask for.

“Then we're agreed,” he mumbled happily as sleep threatened, heavy and calm.

\----

They lay like that, wrapped up together, for a while longer until mutual stomach grumbles insisted otherwise. Dorian chuckled, grappled for his pants that had ended up on the floor, and grabbed out his phone to order them something for dinner. He leaned against Cullen’s chest still, cheek rubbing against the soft hair that covered the other man’s pecs, and smiled as he set the phone down, “Probably about half an hour,” Dorian offered, “think you can hold out until then?”

\----

“I’m sure I’ll survive. At least I’m in good company,” Cullen chuckled and wrapped his arms back around Dorian. He was loathe to get up, to get dressed, to be anywhere other than where he was. It was too soon before Dorian was rolling out of bed to get dressed for the delivery guy. Trying to, anyway, as Cullen kept pulling him back for just one more kiss.

They eventually made their way out of bed and into clothes - just in time, too. The buzzer sounded just as they finished dressing, and Dorian went to retrieve their dinner. Cullen’s stomach was growling by the time the bag of takeaway was opened and containers distributed, and he couldn’t help but tucking in unceremoniously. Between bites, he did manage a little conversation, though.

“How was the rest of your day? Anything interesting happen?”

\----

Dorian sat, tucked up against himself as he ate, and shrugged a little in response, “Nothing huge,” he answered. That much was mostly true. It had been quiet, which he appreciated. “But, um... I did answer that email,” he offered, “I said one drink. I’m not staying any longer to hear about anything other than what he wants to say to me. So whatever... gossip or whatever he’s going to try for, he’s got as long as it takes me to finish a martini, which isn’t terribly long.”

\----

Cullen nodded as he chewed. He had serious reservations about this stranger from Tevinter, regardless of what he’d said last night, but he did think it was… encouraging? that Dorian was trying. He was giving himself a chance to close or resolve at least this one loose end from his past, anyway. Maybe that meant he was healing. Either way, Cullen still wanted the man to be safe. He made a mental note to be available whenever this meeting was going to happen… just in case.

“... he should be glad you’re giving him even that time. When are you meeting him?”

\----

“Wednesday,” he answered with a soft sigh, “after work, I’d imagine. An hour at most, probably less if what he has to say doesn’t begin and end with ‘I was a terrible jackass and hope you’ll forgive me.’ Not that it will. I’ve never seen the man apologize in his life.”

\----

“Just… be careful. If this guy acts squirelly or just isn’t entirely aboveboard… get out. Or call me. I’ll come.” There was a heat in Cullen’s voice that he hadn’t intended to be there, but the idea that this could be some sort of trap set up by Dorian’s parents was still lingering. Even if Dorian was convinced they wouldn’t use this particular friend, well, he couldn’t be too careful, and his chest squeezed and burned when he thought of them just… taking Dorian away. They’d done it before, who’s to say they weren’t desperate enough to try it again?

“I just… be safe, ok?”

\----

Dorian leaned over and kissed Cullen’s cheek, “You’ll know if something seems untoward,” he promised, “first. I’ll...figure out a word or something to send you or call you so you know something’s wrong.”

\----

“Good,” Cullen smiled. He could tell that Dorian meant it, and that made him feel better. The man would be walking into the situation with his eyes open. “... I'm a worrier, you know,” he added with a laugh.

Days passed as they do. They didn't really speak of the upcoming reunion, but Cullen could tell Dorian was getting antsy, which only made Cullen more affectionate. When they were together, there was hardly a moment where he wasn't at least touching the man, just to let him know that Cullen was _there_ for him.

Wednesday finally arrived, and it saw Cullen cursing a stream at his phone over coffee after Dorian had left for work. He was _supposed_ to be off that evening, he'd asked Garrett specifically to not schedule him after 5:30. All for naught, it seemed.

He pulled up the running conversation he and Dorian had going and typed up a message.

_[Send Message: Dorian (9:12AM)]: I'm so sorry, They called me in tonight. Some client with no time and too much money wants us all night. Probably literally. May not see you until tomorrow._

But he wouldn't leave Dorian entirely alone tonight. He'd promised to come if needed, and Maker damn it all, he would.

_[Send Message: Dorian (9:13AM)]: I *will* leave if you need me tonight. Just tell me. And don't feel bad about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	20. Old Friends, Old Wounds [2 of 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian receives a proposition that could change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All we can say is that we're sorry for everything that has happened and is about to happen. Please bear with us if you can - it will be worth it, we hope.

There had been the thought to ask Cullen to come along. In a fit of nerves, Dorian actually had the conversation pulled up and was ready to type the words ‘come with me. I don’t want to do this alone,’ but it seemed Garrett got there first. It was probably better that way. There was no way it would be fair for Dorian to ask Cullen to go and then drop the ‘oh yes, we used to date back when I was a teenager and into my twenties’ just before. It was years ago, and a lot less close than even the situation with Frederic, but he knew Cullen wouldn’t react well. No, he was on his own for this.

_[Send Message: Cullen (10:05AM)]: if I need you, the phrase will be ‘do you have my keys?’ so you know. If I send that, come get me._

Dorian followed that up with the bar address and slumped back into his chair. He wasn’t ready for this. One drink might not be enough, even beforehand, as he was seriously considering putting a bit of bourbon into a soda so he could at least get through the day. It was only ten, and there were seven hours to go yet.

Maker help him.

That afternoon, after what felt like one of the longest days Dorian’d had in weeks, saw him seated at a booth in one of the little trendy bars near work. He would have sat _at_ the bar so he could keep an eye on the door, but something about that just seemed entirely too cliche. Something about dames and gin joints or something, not that Rilienus had ever been witty enough to make that joke. The man was clever, of course, but his sense of humor could be... lacking, or at least it had back then. Things could have changed.

He was pointedly not sipping from his glass of wine, if only so that when the other man finally got there he could start immediately. Dorian pulled out his phone, checked the time and his messages, and laid it on the table by his hand. Just in case. Just in case he needed Cullen in a hurry.

\----

Rilienus smiled, perfectly white teeth flashing in the evening sun, as he approached the bar where Dorian had finally agreed to meet him. It was maddening that the man had taken so long to respond, but he got what he wanted in the end. He usually did. He'd taken the effort to reach out, and it hadn't been easy to get that email address out of Felix by any stretch of the imagination, but it had ended well.

One drink. If he knew Dorian, and he was pretty sure he did, that was an empty threat. Dorian didn't do _one drink_. Besides, he'd gone through a lot just to make this trip, maneuvering for it as soon as he got promoted. He'd have his time. He'd just have to be careful about it. And now that his official business was concluded, Rilienus looked forward to the real reason he'd come, the real reason he'd put his name in that hat to come to Ferelden, of all places. The ass end of Thedas, as far as he was concerned, but it contained one incredibly remarkable creature in Dorian Pavus.

Dorian, who had been so adorably passionate in their youth. So naive about how it all worked. Dorian, whose immaturity and unwillingness to accept things as they had to be had been his undoing. Dorian, the man who still crossed Rilienus’s mind almost daily, despite the decade that separated them.

Dorian was just on the other side of this door.

He'd listen. He'd have to. Surely, he'd grown up by now. Surely, he'd see reason.

Rilienus’s green eyes surveyed the bar like an alpha wolf surveyed his pack. He was better than these people, so he paid them no mind. He was focused on the man nervously fidgeting with the rings on his fingers in a booth in the back. He smiled his toothy grin again as he made his way without hesitation. He was a man who knew what he wanted. He was a man who _got_ what he wanted, as long as he played by the rules. Or learned which ones he could break.

He broke a few when he sat down opposite Dorian in that booth. If he had his way, he'd be breaking quite a few more… later.

“That doesn't count as our one drink,” he said with his positively charming smile and smooth voice, gesturing at the wine already sitting in front of Dorian.

\----

“Like the Void it doesn’t,” Dorian quipped back, “I haven’t touched it.”

Maker, but Rilienus did look... well, the same. Maybe a little older: some fine lines at his eyes that if they were pointed out would probably ruin his day, and that sort of settled look of someone who was just where they wanted to be in life. The suit he wore was just as fine as Dorian expected, one he could probably guess the tailor if he thought about it for a while, and he looked just as well-coiffed and effortlessly charming as ever. The man oozed confidence.

Pointedly, and more than a bit brashly, he picked up the glass and took a sip. “Now talk.”

\----

Oh, anger. Well, Rilienus could accept that. He knew there was more under that anger, every twitch of the man's muscles betrayed him. He'd clearly forgotten that Rilienus _knew_ him in ways no one else could. Their history went deep.

He leaned forward and got the server’s attention.

“Two old-fashioneds, I think,” he said, eyes focused on Dorian's. The server nodded and went off to fetch him his order as Rilienus relaxed back into the booth. “Just in case you change your mind. I'll drink the other myself if not. You're looking well, I must say. I like the mustache. Very dashing.”

\----

Ugh, the man knew him cold. It was infuriating. Everything about him was infuriating from the way he emailed Dorian like they did it all the time to... this. Dorian pushed out a breath through his nose and took another sip from from his wine. He wanted to drain the glass, ask for a bottle, and drink it all down. He wanted to be tipsy and dumb and not feel this.

“Well, I did get a bit tired of being told I was the spitting image of Aquinea’s father,” he commented, “this seemed to be just enough to get them to let go of that.”

Dorian wanted to know what this was about. Why, after so long, did Rilienus want to see him? He wanted to shake him, possibly smack him, and _demand_ to know _why_ for so many things. It seemed so unfair that he’d been left wondering, holding the exploded remains of everything, while he got to go on and be this person Dorian didn’t want to recognize. “Do your parents know you’re here?” he asked, “I would have thought they’d make you sign some sort of disgusting pre-nup that says you’re not to see me again. Ever. Or be within a few thousand yards.”

\----

That was one of the benefits of playing by the rules. He'd played nice, distanced himself - painfully, yes, but it was _necessary_ \- so Dorian hadn't even been a consideration during his marriage negotiations. Nor had the other men that came after. He was doing his duty by his family, so blind eyes were turned to what else he did. Dorian had never seemed to understand that. They could have had it _all_. Power, wealth, each other, if he'd only _listened._

But the man was stubborn to a fault. He held grudges. Still did, if that tone was anything to go by. It was infuriating at times, but seeing him with his hackles up… Maker, it had always done things to Rilienus. He loved that passion then. He loved it still.

“If by here, you mean sitting across from you at this bar, no. My time is my own now that my business is done,” he paused for a moment, calculating how much was too much too soon based on Dorian's posture. He had to be careful, so careful to get what he wanted. “and I wanted to spend that time with you. Maker, it's been too long, Dorian.”

\----

He scoffed for that, “Oh, yes, far too long. Which makes me wonder why _now_?” Dorian asked. Might as well be candid, really. Dancing around it was only going to extend this longer. “Two years of me trying to see you, which you ignored, and now all of a sudden you’re wanting to play like we saw each other last month. What are you _doing_?”

\----

That chip on Dorian's shoulder was going to break his back one of these days. Rilienus sighed and did his best to look chastened, though it didn't come naturally, and waited for the server to drop off the drinks he'd ordered before opening his mouth.

“I'm not playing like we saw each other last month,” he started. “Dorian, I don't want to _play_ at all. It would be ridiculous to try.” He took a sip of his drink then, mind working on the next move. “I… those first years… it killed me to see your messages and leave them unanswered. I still have them, all of them.” He breathed out then, heavy, and let his eyes go pleading as his shoulders slumped, “I didn't come here to open old wounds. I came… I came to say I'm sorry.”

His eyes remained sad as he watched Dorian's face, waiting to see if the man would stand down so they could move forward.

Because Rulienus did want to move forward. More now that he'd seen Dorian than he had when he talked the email address out of Felix. Years of memories flooded in, the love he'd felt once, the love he wanted to feel again.

\----

Well, that was actually a surprise. Yes, Dorian had rather hoped that would be the case but he’d never expected it to come to fruition. Rilienus didn’t _apologize_. Or, rather, if he did it was more to apologize that someone was upset by his actions as opposed to being sorry for doing anything. That said... he sounded more sincere than Dorian could remember. Married life must have humbled him a little, since he figured his wife... what was her name? Anyway, he could only imagine she wouldn’t take any of his shit without giving some of her own.

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then opened again with a sigh, “Sorry that you went back on everything we ever talked about? Sorry that you... ignored me after the worst time in my life? Sorry that you waited this long?” Dorian asked, the words falling out faster than he meant for them to. “Sorry that if I hadn’t said _your_ name I wouldn’t have been carted off and _tortured_? What are you sorry for?”

Dorian leaned onto his arms on the table, leaned in a little so grey eyes could look into green ones. He known everything about every look the other man wore once upon a time. He knew every secret smile, every scheming expression when he planned something that would inevitably get them in trouble, every bit of pleasure and pain and how it completely painted his features. Dorian had known them all. Now he looked into those eyes and hoped to see the sincerity that they really only ever shared under the cover of locked doors, blankets, and dim rooms.

“I want to hear you _say_ what you _did to me_ ,” he instructed in a low voice that was almost a growl, “and I want you to _own_ it. Because I don’t think you ever have, and I want you to look at me when you do.”

\----

_Shit. Fuck. You're losing him. Again._

He suddenly found that this wasn't the game he'd thought it would be when he made plans to come here. It wasn't a game at all, and some long dead part of him yearned for the man spitting venom at him from across the table. Dorian was… he was memories of a better time, a time before the rules and expectations. A time when he was just himself.

Of course, the rules would never vanish, but if Dorian would only agree… they could pretend for a while.

“All of that,” he answered, true emotion lighting his voice for the first time since he sat down, “I'm sorry for all of that. For turning my back on you. For leaving you alone when you needed me. For giving up on us. On everything.” He could hear the shake in his voice, and heard his father calling him a fool, but he continued, “I'm sorry I played the game instead of standing with you. It was… it was the worst mistake I've ever made and not a day goes by that I don't regret it.” Dorian's gaze was steel and torture. Rilienus hadn't meant to let it go this far, hadn't meant to get so emotional, but he hadn't figured his own heart waking up into his calculations. Still, the best way to seem sincere was to be sincere, and he found he meant every word that came shooting out of his mouth.

He should have tried harder to convince Dorian they could have been together, even with wives and eventually children, they could have still loved each other.

“Because you were right. It's hollow, this life. It’s taken me a decade to realize that… and I'm sorry for that, too.”

\----

That was, surprisingly, exactly what Dorian had wanted. In his heart of hearts, under the anger and sticky need to watch Rilienus squirm, he wanted him to actually be sorry. He wanted the other man to still want to be _more_ , and... Maker, maybe he did. Maybe playing that game for so long finally woke him up once it wasn’t just easy jobs and a trust fund. He would have had to work in there _somewhere_ , either with the wife or at the job or against his parents. Something. _Anything_ to make him understand.

“I wasn’t actually expecting you to say that,” he admitted, and took another drink from his wine, “since when do you apologize?”

It hurt his heart. It hurt that they wasted something potentially so good for nothing. Granted, Dorian was happy with his life. He wouldn’t change it, but _they_ could have had this life. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be. It took him a long time to square with that. Still, it was good to hear that maybe something could be salvaged. Even if it was just... an email here and there, since there was no way they could go back to what it was, it was better than wondering why and what if.

Cullen had called it closure. His therapist would say the same. It hurt, but it did feel good.

“Thank you,” Dorian told him, the growl in his voice mostly gone now, “I’ve wanted to hear that for a while.”

\----

Rilienus’s nerves shook for how bare he'd laid that out there. It hadn't been part of the plan, but it had worked. And it had been mostly the truth. His life _was_ hollow, but not for the reasons he knew Dorian thought. He was successful, top of the social ladder, and could get most everything he wanted, one way or the other. What made it hollow was that the one thing he really wanted, he couldn't have. But now, after all these years… maybe he could.

The softened tones Dorian's voice had fallen to told him that there was hope.

“I've needed to _say_ that for a while,” he said before taking a long pull of his drink, “... all those times I wondered what could have been...” He waved a hand then, “Even so, it's _good_ to see you. I'm glad you agreed to meet me.”

\----

“Well, they say closure is a good thing to have, don’t they?” Dorian asked with a cocked eyebrow.

_You still need to ask. Don’t get lost in those eyes, Pavus. You know better._

He studied his wine for a long moment, tipping the glass back and forth as he watched the red swirl in the glass. Nonchalance was key. “My parents don’t have a hand in this, right?” he asked, and looked back up into that handsome face. Rilienus with his strong jaw and skin like whiskey in the sun. Dorian had loved the long, lusty summers in Qarinus when their parents were off traveling and they had the big rooms to themselves where he could bury his face in against skin warmed by the afternoon. They could drink, fuck, talk, and plan all they liked. And they had. Maker, they had. Even now, Dorian thought if he were to reach out and touch that skin it would still be hot from the ocean breeze.

\----

Green eyes went wide at that. Had his parents sent him? Rilienus had heard of the elder Pavus’s efforts to guilt or bully their son back to Tevinter, of course, but he'd never… He was many things, but he refused to count _those people_ amongst his circle. It was the one thing he refused to do that would have made his life easier.

“Your parents and I… we don't interact. By my choice, not theirs… Maker, Dorian, what they did… I can't even look at them,” he met Dorian's gaze then, “Whatever happened, I _loved_ you. And they sent you away because of me. I… wasn't without blame, I know, but…” he leaned back, unsure for the first time in a long time of what he should say. He should have known. Dorian was disarming, always had been. “I hated them because I never stopped loving you.”

_Did I just say that? Shit. This is getting too deep._

\----

Dorian’s heart stuttered in his chest. It felt like he’d been punched. Hard. Harder than he’d ever been hit in his life, and he’d had a few nannies with a good backhand. He heard himself make a soft sound, and Dorian put his glass of wine back to his lips to drain it. Drunk. Being very drunk sounded like the perfect remedy.

And hadn’t he always wanted that? Hadn’t he always wanted the man to come back, curl in close, and tell him all the ways he still loved him? Dorian had pictured him on a white horse, sword in hand, to take him away from the rooms his parents had locked him in. It was ridiculous, looking back on it, but Maker help him he’d missed hearing that. Rilienus was the only person, Dorian was convinced, that had ever actually loved him. His parents saw him as a product: something to be advertised and used as an asset. He wasn’t a _son_ or a _person_. Rilienus had seen _him_. And loved him.

“It’s good to see we still have something in common,” he mused, “even if it’s hating them.”

He’d hurt for a long time. He still did, even though the good days outnumbered the bad exponentially. Hearing that was like a balm to an old wound that had never quite closed. It just festered and infected him from the deepest and darkest parts of himself. No one could touch it, not even Dorian, and yet Rilienus could. Somehow. _Fuck._

Dorian sighed, “Alright…” he relented his stance and rested his chin in one hand so he could study that handsome face, “so tell me everything. I’ve fucking _missed_ you.”

\----

Rilienus pushed the untouched second drink over to Dorian's side of the table before matching his posture, leaning in and resting on his arms. This was good. This was hopeful. He could make this work, he just had to be honest. It had come naturally to him with Dorian before, it could come again. It felt good to let go of the scheming, if only for a night.

“It's hard to know where to begin,” he sighed, “but Maker, I've missed you, too,” he cut his eyes to the side, “There were others. I tried to fill that hollow place, but _she_ couldn't, and neither could they.” He brought his eyes back to center, locking with Dorian's, “I never found what we had again. There was never anyone I loved like you.” He stretched his hand out and just left it there on the table in front of him, fingers drumming on the lacquered surface. “You were the only one, and look how I fucked that up.”

\----

He chuckled, “Well, I _am_ incredibly singular. You know that,” and tapped his fingers against his cheekbone. It was true, though, there wasn’t anyone in the world _quite_ like Rilienus either. For a while, he’d been Dorian’s measuring stick, and whoever he met had to be put against the man that sat before him now. None of them measured up. For a long time he’d thought no one ever could. Until…

Cullen.

Dorian smiled to himself then. “And there’s no one like you either,” he agreed, though he did pick up his phone and tap it. The lock screen was something innocuous: an art installation piece in the gallery of the auction house. It featured lots of moving parts and metal ball bearings that tipped scales and gears and Dorian had found it oddly calming to play with (which had been encouraged). When he unlocked his phone, however, the screen was something else altogether. It was a picture he’d snapped one sleepy Sunday morning: Cullen curled against Dorian’s chest, still asleep, with that halo of blond curling at his shoulder. It was calming in another way. The man slept wrapped around him in a way no one, even Rilienus, ever had.

He looked back up then and caught those green eyes, “I’m seeing someone,” Dorian told him, “have been for a while.”

\----

Rilienus swallowed, hard, but his face remained friendly. It was naive to think that after all this time, there wouldn't be someone else for Dorian, even if there honestly hadn't been anyone else for Rilienus. It was disheartening. It threw a wrench in his plans… but it didn't have to grind the whole works to a stop, did it? No. This other man, whoever he was, didn't have their history, couldn't possibly know Dorian like Rilienus did.

“Is that him? Let me see,” he said, smiling even if he didn't feel like it. When he took the phone, he let his fingers glide over Dorian's in a way that _could_ have been innocent. “Oh, he's pretty. Love the hair,” he offered, and the man was pretty, even if this blond stranger was currently sitting at the top of his “people I don't like” list. “How did you meet him?”

\----

That little brush of fingers made a bolt of electricity go through him. The man had always been able to get to Dorian in five touches or less, so he’d always joked, and it seemed now was no different. He shivered a little, which he could blame on the draft of the door opening and closing, and wrapped his hand around the drink Rilienus had passed him. “You’re going to hate it,” he teased, “absolutely you will, I know you.”

He was grinning a little now. It was perfectly easy to fall back into old patterns now that those wounds didn’t feel quite so raw. Rubbed and smarting, yes, but not the bottomless ache that never seemed to stop. “We met on the train platform,” Dorian answered after a moment, “he had a _guitar_. It was like every cheesy movie you’ve ever seen.”

Maker, but he did love annoying the man’s sense of superiority.

\----

“Oh, a guitar. How _delightful,”_ he took one more look at the man in the photo before handing the phone back to Dorian. He couldn’t help but notice the difference between that man and himself. Had Dorian’s tastes changed so much?

No matter. There was a little light in Dorian's eyes, impish, really, which meant that he thought he was getting under Rilienus’s skin. He could play along.

“... and I'll bet he serenades you to sleep each night and you’ve lived happily ever after,” he grinned, a little impish himself, leaning forward against his elbows with one fist tucked under his chin. The other hand stayed flat, open on the table. “If your cheesy movies are anything to go by.” He chuckled then, and nudged the hand Dorian was holding his drink in, “My dear man, don't make me drink alone. It's just sad.”

\----

Well, another drink wouldn’t go astray. They were, now, catching up. Catching up deserved a drink. Dorian picked up the old fashioned and sipped it, an expectant look on his face as if to say _happy now?_ “Sadly, not a happily ever after yet,” he mused. Not that he wanted to get too far into it. Cullen’s life wasn’t any of Rilienus’ business, and he wasn’t about to divulge that. “It seems that little stunt of my parents’ left me a slight emotional wreck,” he mused, “happy is relative, though the serenading is quite nice.”

Cullen hadn’t sang him to sleep, not really, but he did play for him. That was nice. As was that little look Rilienus wore. It was like he was genuinely listening. He’d been the only one who had for years, after all, and it was so easy to fall back into that mode of sharing secrets and laughing together. “But what about you? How is... er,” he paused and frowned. Dorian had ripped up the wedding invitation after reading it only once. Of course he was sure he’d know the woman’s name if he heard it, but Dorian couldn’t think of it. “Your wife. I’ve forgotten her name, I’m sorry. She’s... you’re both okay?”

\----

“Like happiness, _ok_ is relative, isn't it?” Rilienus sighed then. He didn't really want to talk about his wife, he'd come here partly to escape her sad, angry eyes and bitter words. He didn’t really want to talk about his _life_ since Dorian left. It would likely just make the man angry. “Talitha and I draw breath, our hearts beat, and we're in good health. That's as ok as it gets.” He took another sip, his glass nearly empty by now, before continuing, “I barely know the woman, is what I mean. Still a stranger after so long. It's a joke.”

His face clouded over then. “She jabs and pokes and is surprised when I can't even…” But that was too much. Dorian didn't need to know that the handful of times he made it to empty completion with his dissatisfied wife, it was Dorian's face he pictured and Dorian's body he so desperately wanted to feel moving with him in the dark. “Well, you understand.”

He breathed and let his tone brighten, “But sometimes, we do vacation at that little villa on the sea my parents have. It's pleasant, if only because of the memories it holds. You know the one... We spent a _pleasant_ summer there once, too... as I recall.”

Rilienus recalled it very well. If happiness was relative, that one summer was the high point. It wasn't an accident he brought it up now, and he lightly brushed a fingertip over the tops of Dorian's knuckles. A gentle exploration to see how the man would react. No more. Still, Rilienus felt his heartbeat accelerate. _Please._

\----

Grey eyes flicked toward that hand that touched his own, and suddenly Dorian felt _very_ conflicted. It was entirely too easy to fall back into this. Alarm bells should have been going off in his head. Instead it was more like an annoying Error message on his computer. Maker, he did try, but he was a weak man when it came to people he cared for. There wasn’t a force alive in the world that could bowl him over like Rilienus could.

“That was a wonderful summer,” he agreed with a nod before he lifted one finger, just one, to run along the length of one of the ones Rilienus touched him with. It was a simple, hesitant touch. Still, he couldn’t quite resist. “I’m sorry things aren’t as... good as they could be,” Dorian offered before he lifted his gaze to meet those green eyes he’d missed so much. He’d dreamed of them for months and to have them watching him now made his blood run both entirely too hot and like ice at the same time.

“Are there, ah…” Dorian faltered a little before he looked back at Rilienus’ hand. He couldn’t help but focus on the simple band around his ring finger: brushed titanium or silver, something that would stand up to wear and tear. The man lived having the best, but when it came to things like that, something that wouldn’t draw attention had always been his way. “No kids yet?” he asked after a moment.

\----

That simple, unsure brush of Dorian's finger on his own sent a shiver down his spine. They'd get there. He longed for the… closeness they'd once shared. Something he never had with anyone else, let alone Talitha.

He leaned forward, as if he was about to reveal a deep secret. And in truth, he was. The only blemish on his reputation these days, the final thing he needed to do to secure his standing.

“Not… as of yet, no,” he admitted voice low, “... It's just her and me rambling around in that big, empty house, only colliding when we have to. She resents me, I'm sure.” He drained his drink then and placed the empty glass off to the side. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table, more on Dorian's side than his, “People are starting to talk. And it's… it's a lonely life, Dorian.”

\----

The smallest smile touched his face. Oh, how he wanted to say ‘I told you so.’ Dorian itched to be the one to remind Rilienus that they’d talked about how a marriage like that would only end in resentment and anger. Empty things. And yet, he’d still done it. Now he had to live with that fact. Still, it did hurt Dorian to see his friend, his former lover, so... sad. Sadness always looked wrong on that handsome face.

“It’s a shame that those of us with the sperm count can’t _really_ just lie back and think of the Imperium, hm?” he teased just lightly. Dorian picked up his drink and had a decent pull of it. The sweetness was good. He’d missed... well, he’d missed it all. A long time ago they would have holed up in a place like this for hours, drinking sweet cocktail after sweet cocktail, and it had been everything Dorian had wanted. “You’ll figure it out,” he went on, “or...I know it would be the scandal to rock the Ages, but you _could_ walk away if it makes you so unhappy. It’s not as if you work for _her_ family, after all.”

\----

“Walk away, huh?” he considered, letting the words roll around his head. He leaned forward over his hands, head tilted to the side. He cocked an eyebrow and let a small and ever-so-slightly suggestive grin form on his face, “... and what would I be walking to?”

\----

“Oh, now you put on the wolfish grin,” Dorian chuckled, “Maker help me.” He shook his head then and rubbed a hand over his face before he smoothed his mustache and looked back up into those green eyes. “You walk away and find something that actually makes you _happy_ ,” he told him, “the threats of being disinherited usually stop after the first year, and... it’s better. It really is.”

\----

“Wolfish grin? You wound me,” he chuckled and rested his chin on a balled hand. He let his face soften, just a bit, though the light was still in his eyes as he took a breath and continued. “It’s too late for all that, though,” he said as he slowly raised his eyes to meet Dorian’s, “Since I’m looking at the only thing that’s ever made me happy. Actually happy.”

\----

Well, that completely melted him on the inside. Dorian could feel himself warm completely, a warmth that had nothing to do with the wine or the cocktail, and he closed his eyes for a long moment. This had been what he’d missed. It was what he _wanted_. He wanted someone who would look at him and think _‘yes, I want to be with HIM forever. He’s the one I love.’_ That was who they’d been to each other once, an island of acceptance amid a sea of backstabbing, rules, and expectations. The only one Dorian had ever had was for them to just...  _not_ be what their parents had wanted. To be free of it. Now he was.

“You always were the charmer,” he mused before Dorian opened his eyes and smiled warmly, “I think we should have another cocktail and catch up a bit further, what do you say?” The hand Rilienus had been fiddling with moved and Dorian covered the other man’s fingers with his own, “I think it’s time we both got to actually be happy for a while.”

\----

“I couldn’t agree more,” Rilienus replied with a soft smile as he moved to entangle their fingers more completely. This was the closest he’d been to anyone in years, and his body hurt for it. For Dorian. Things had been shaky for a while, but now… they were right on track.

Time passed, slowly and too quickly all at the same time, as they opened up. Tales of the past and more drinks brought blushes to their faces, and they fell into that easy, intimate cadence they had before everything went to shit. To say Rilienus was pleased was an understatement, this was what he'd wanted, after all, and after… after whatever the evening brought them, he'd talk about his plan. He'd convince Dorian that what they had didn't have to be ancient history, nor did it have to interfere with his standing. Depending on how Dorian wanted to handle it… it could _improve_ his. He'd listen, Rilienus was convinced now.

He contemplated how he'd broach the subject when Dorian excused himself to “use the facilities.” He smiled to himself, hoping it would come after a little more fun than holding hands in a bar, nice as that was, when Dorian's phone buzzed on the table. Curious, he picked it up and unlocked it.

_[Cullen (9:05PM)]: Hey, you. Just wanted to make sure you're ok. Let me know. Thinking of you._

Ah, that must be the blond _guitar_ player. If Dorian saw this… well, it would put a damper on the evening, to say the least. He quickly flicked up through the other messages to get a feel for how Dorian wrote and hit reply.

_[Send Message: Cullen (9:07PM)]: im fine. just did some catching up. thinking of u too xoxo_

Hopefully, that would be enough to keep him from texting all night. That was the last thing Rilienus needed.

When Dorian returned, Rilienus had already ordered another round. He took Dorian's hand, just as easily and naturally as he ever had, and they resumed reminiscing into the night.

Eventually, when Rilienus thought the time was right… when Dorian was just giddy enough, just receptive enough, he looked into those beautiful grey eyes and asked, “How about we get out of here?”

\----

Oh, but he was so incredibly happy. And drunk. Very drunk. Not falling-all-over-himself drunk, but enough that he was leaning over and flushed and _grinning_. Maker, they laughed all night and it made Dorian’s heart swell. It was like he was twenty again, lost in Minrathous with Rilienus and getting into all kinds of trouble, and he’d missed being so carefree. This was him _before_. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he was like himself from _before_. It was everything he wanted.

“And where are we going?” he asked, then let out a slightly drunken chuckle, “sad to say, this city is severely lacking in Tevinter street food carts. However will we manage?” Dorian squeezed the hand wrapped around his own, which was suddenly the most interesting thing. To see their hands tangled together, whiskey-gold and bronze, made his heart ache. They were always so beautiful together. Always, always.

He wanted to go, though. Dorian didn’t want to be in the bar anymore. He wanted to be wherever Rilienus was, but not with a table between them. He wanted to feel that warm skin, kissed by the sun even in darkest winter, and hear his laugh and track him with his eyes until he couldn’t see anyone or anything else.

\----

“I have a delightful collection of tiny bottles of booze in my room, if you’d care to partake,” Rilienus chuckled as he waved the server down for their tab. After paying, he stood and held his hand out to help Dorian to his feet. “What do you say?”

\----

_Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._

There wasn’t room for any other thoughts in his head. His mind was sticky and syrupy-sweet from the drinks and the heat in his cheeks and sharing old stories. Dorian couldn’t have answered any other way, didn’t want to, and he nodded as he leaned in against Rilienus’ chest. He wasn’t stumbling, not yet, but he wasn’t about to give up an opportunity to be close.

“Let’s go.”

Work in the morning, along with everything else, wasn’t even on his radar anymore. None of it mattered.

\----

Better and better. That press against his chest was, Rilienus hoped, a taste of things to come. “Then come on, you. It's not a long walk.”

He led Dorian out into the night, his arm around the man's shoulders to keep him close. Along the way, he spoke lightly of trouble they'd gotten into when everything was new, all the while keeping Dorian pressed against him. This… this was how it was supposed to be. Warmth and closeness and none of the bickering and resentment he'd grown so tired of.

They reached the hotel in no time, and Rilienus had to restrain himself from sweeping Dorian into a kiss as soon as they were alone in the elevator. He stroked a finger along the man's jawline as he stepped into his space. “Almost there. I'm at the top,” he murmured into his ear.

They'd get to his room and then… well, and then they'd see.

\----

Ah, the finest hotel and the penthouse to boot. Dorian had missed those days. They had spent years checking into the finest rooms, drinking mini-bars dry, and generally causing a ruckus everywhere. He’d missed that. He’d missed living that life with no regard for anything but himself. It had been far too long.

“Of course you are,” he murmured, shivering for that finger along sensitive skin. He was buzzing from all the alcohol, too sensitive and hot under his clothes, and that touch was like a memory come to life of Rilienus doing that exact motion when they had a moment to themselves. Both of Dorian’s hands tangled in his coat, fingers caught up in the thick material, and he sighed.

A light laugh then, “Remember the time we fucked in the elevator and it opened down in the lobby?” Dorian prompted, “I’d say I felt bad for those guys going to the convention, but half of them would probably have done the same thing if they had the chance.”

\----

“Oh, I remember,” he all but growled, stepping closer so he was pressing Dorian against the wall of the elevator. They'd been too careless then, taking their pleasure wherever they wanted, flying in the face of the establishment. This time, this time, they would be discreet, as was expected, and it would be no less… delicious. Still, they were leagues away from Tevinter here, and maybe…

But before he could finish that thought, the elevator arrived at his floor. A little fumbling with the key card later, and they were inside. “Mi casa es su casa,” he chuckled as he shrugged out of his coat.

\----

Dorian was already shrugging out of his coat and scarf by then, and loosened his tie so it hung down around his neck a bit. His blood was so hot, and he was... Maker, he didn’t even know. He was overwhelmed by memory, lost in old times, and heated by Rilienus’ presence. “So is this a work expenditure?” he teased as he walked over to the small kitchenette to open the minibar.

He pulled out two small bottles of whiskey and poured each one into a small glass so he could hold it out. In his drunken state he looked from the color of the liquor to the stretch of Rilienus’ neck and marveled at how they still matched perfectly. Beautiful. Perfection. They’d both always been perfection.

“And are we having these in here or out on that fantastic looking balcony?”

\----

Rilienus would much rather have taken this to the spacious bed with soft sheets in the next room, but they’d get there. He was sure of it now.

“Whatever your heart desires,” he laughed and moved to take his drink, closer than was necessary. So close he could feel the warmth rolling from Dorian and he wanted nothing more than to feel the man around him again, nothing between them but sweat and whispered words. “Though it is… far warmer in here,” he added, voice low, as he cupped the man’s face in his free hand, thumb stroking that smooth cheek.

\----

“So true,” he agreed as he pressed his cheek in against that warm palm. Dorian smiled, nuzzled his face in against that warm hand, and turned to down the whiskey in two neat gulps.

Much of the evening, after that, Dorian couldn’t remember. It was a haze of color and laughing and heat in his blood and next to his skin. Maker, he was ridiculously drunk. He hadn’t been this drunk outside of home in a long, long time. That said, it made him feel like a teenager again. They just... let it out. Years of not being close and they fell back into each other like they’d never been apart. Dorian had been angry about that prospect hours ago, but couldn’t even remember it now.

Rilienus had kissed him at one point. He remembered that. Soft lips, warm tongue, and a mouth that tasted half like drink and half like a remembered something Dorian had missed with all his heart. He’d pushed him off, laughing the whole time, and teasing about getting fresh. He used to do that, too. Nothing seemed to egg Rilienus on like being told ‘no,’ and it had amused Dorian endlessly both back then and now to know that he’d have to make the man work for it. Maker knew he didn’t have to do that kind of thing often.

When he woke, though, things were... different. Dorian’s head pounded like someone was taking a sledgehammer to his left eye, and he felt absolutely sick. Maker, he hadn’t had a hangover like this in years. Wine was bad, it always left him feeling dizzy and a bit rotten, but this was so much worse. His whole system felt like it was tingling and on fire. What _had_ he drank after that nightcap back at-

_Oh. Oh SHIT._

Dorian’s eyes snapped open and even in the very dim light of the early morning his body actively disagreed. It felt like he was going to be sick, and he groaned before grabbing the pillow his head was resting heavily on and covering his face. _Maker help me. Please, please, save me from this. I’ll do anything_.

\----

Despite the late night, Rilienus woke with the dawn. He always did, he couldn't help it. He just lay there, hand resting on Dorian's hip, enjoying the warmth the two of them created under the sheets and blankets nested around them. In the end, they'd only kissed and snuggled down together in bed. Dorian had been so far gone by then that he couldn't make it more with a clear conscience, but it had still been good. It wasn't just sex he'd missed about his time with Dorian, after all. It was Dorian himself.

He felt Dorian stirring, putting a pillow over his face to block the sunlight that still managed to make it through the curtains. He smiled, knowing the hangover the man must have, if his own pounding head was any indicator. He snuggled closer, pressing into Dorian’s back and breathing him in. “Good morning,” he said softly, not wanting to startle the man.

\----

That voice. Dorian knew...oh, oh _Maker_.

He pulled the pillow off of his face and rolled over. They were in bed. He and Rilienus were in bed. Together. Dorian took a quick inventory of his body, which wasn’t naked but still out of his clothes, but it didn’t _feel_ like they’d had sex the night before. Thank Andraste for that. That would have been altogether too much for a morning like this. He felt entirely too out of sorts to... deal with that.

“I shouldn’t have slept here,” Dorian murmured, and started to push back the blankets. His body felt heavy, tired and hungover (or partially still drunk), so it was hard to get the motor skills to get to his feet. All he knew was that Rilienus was _married_. He was in bed with a fucking married man.

\----

“Hey,” Rilienus soothed, wrapping his arms around Dorian a little more tightly, “Don’t run off. It’s ok. Just… can we just lay here awhile. Please?”

_Please_ wasn’t usually part of his vocabulary, but he didn’t want Dorian spooked, not now. He still wanted to… he wanted to make it so this didn’t have to be the last time. Not ideal to have this conversation when they were both hung over, but he didn’t have a choice.

“Stay with me just a little longer?”

\----

Dorian’s eyes slid shut. _Bad idea. Very bad idea. Go home. Go home, have a shower, and get ready for work. There’s still time. Don’t stay._

He relaxed against that strong form that held him and leaned back so he was pressed against Rilienus’ chest. Maker, he was an awful person. Terrible. The worst of the worst. And yet... Rilienus _loved_ him. Loved him in spite of it, and maybe a bit because of it. He knew Dorian inside and out, cold after so many years, and that was what he needed. Dorian needed someone who would look at all of the _shit_ and still want him.

“Maker’s breath,” he breathed before he turned to bury his face in against Rilienus’ neck. The man smelled the same. Under the expensive soap and cologne he still smelled like summer and sea spray and warm wind. He’d missed that. His senses were absolutely in tune with it, too, and he rested his hands over the ones that rest on his hips.

“I _missed_ you so.”

\----

“Mmmm, I missed you, too,” Rilienus said, soft and low, as he curled his arms around Dorian more completely. He pressed a kiss into dark hair as he continued, “We shouldn’t wait another 10 years to do this again. I think… I think maybe we could see where this goes?”

\----

The sound of that voice washed over him, and Dorian sighed. It could go anywhere, he was convinced, so long as they were happy. He just wanted to be happy. He’d been miserable for so long and this made all of those old hurts seem like they were worth it. But, still…

“How do you mean?” he asked against Rilienus’ ear before he nipped at it.

\----

Rilienus sucked in a breath of air at the feeling of teeth against his ear. Despite the pounding in his head, it lit up a burning itch that he hoped could be scratched, and soon. But first things first - he had a proposal to make. Might as well go all in at this point.

“I mean we don’t have to be apart any more,” he began, letting his fingers draw a line down Dorian’s spine and back up again, “We can… start again, and be better.”

\----

Maker help him. Dorian’s chest swelled. Was he…

A thousand thoughts hit him from all sides. Dorian could picture him leaving Tevinter, moving away from all that vicious shit and coming to Ferelden, them together. Maker, they could be together and it wouldn’t have to be a secret. They could do all the things they used to, run around and enjoy themselves, and not have to hide. It made his heart _ache_ in the best way.

He nosed in against the other man’s neck again as he turned and curled against his chest. Just the implication, that Rilienus would be with _him_ , was enough to make almost-unexpected tears form at the corners of his eyes. Dorian had missed him so much. He’d missed someone that knew him so well.

“You really mean that?”

\----

“Mmm, I do,” Rilienus sighed against dark waves of hair that tickled his face. Maker, what he wouldn’t give to wake up like this… most... every morning. “There’s no reason we can’t. It’s tragic, really, to have thrown away something so _good._ ” He closed his eyes, kissing Dorian’s forehead. “I’ve lived that life for long enough now… I know how to navigate it. We can be together, Dorian, and we can have everything else, too.”

\----

Maker help him. This was what he wanted. Nothing else mattered.

“Imagine the scandal,” Dorian teased gently, “after all that... you leaving your wife for Dorian Pavus.”

\----

“Leave my wife?” Rilienus asked, pulling away slightly to look into those grey eyes. Dorian had misunderstood his intentions, clearly. For this to work, he couldn’t let that stand. “Dorian, I can’t do that… I’m trapped there, for better or worse. Mostly worse.” He smiled then and lifted a hand to brush Dorian’s hair back from his face. “But we could still make it work. I want to make it work. I… I have always, _always_ loved you… I don’t want to be without you any more.”

\----

He blinked. _What?_ That... that wasn’t right. That wasn’t supposed to be what he said.

“But you’re not going to leave her,” he pointed out, “I can’t be with you when you’re _married_. That’s insanity and you know it.”

\----

“The marriage is a sham and _you_ know it. A political contract that I can’t break, nothing more and nothing less,” he answered, hoping Dorian would see the truth there. “As long as I fulfill certain duties… as long as my mail keeps going to her address… it doesn’t matter where I spend my evenings… or who I spend them with,” he softened then, “And I want to spend them with you. Like this. Please, Dorian, I _need_ you.”

\----

“You want me to be your _mistress_?” Dorian hissed before he scooted away from the other man, “Have you lost your mind?”

No, no, no. Rilienus wasn’t supposed to do that. He’d _said_. He was better. He didn’t want to play that stupid game anymore. They could... they could rise above it, Dorian knew they could. “And what?” he asked, “You fly back here every weekend so we can pretend like you’re not still married to someone else?”

\----

“However we wanted to handle the traveling, I don’t mind. And it’s more like I’m pretending to _be_ married in the first place. You know how it is,” he sighed, “You would be the truth in my heart and she’d be the pretender. The point is, it would be work,” he reached out a hand to rest on Dorian’s shoulder, “but it would be well worth it, don’t you think?”

\----

Yes. A relationship was work. Dorian was more than prepared to agree to that. It wasn’t always easy. What that was implying, however, was that Rilienus would have it easy. He could come to Dorian, play boyfriend for a day or three, then go home and pretend it never happened. That left Dorian alone in the interim, waiting on him, and he’d sworn that he’d never do that.

“I _left_ because I refused to do this,” he argued, “and I _told you_. I’m not going to hide my relationships ever again. _Ever_.”

Dorian shook his head and started to get to his feet, “I should have known. I should have _fucking_ known,” he muttered, “I was... Maker help me.”

\----

So he hadn't changed. In ten years, he was still stubborn, still so far up on his moral high horse that he couldn't see the reality of their situation. He couldn't see how things had to be.

“You were what, Dorian? Thinking I could turn my back on everything that was built for _me_? People _expect_ things of me, I can't ignore that,” he said as he sat up, “We could have had it all, you and me, if we'd just accepted the limitations. We could _still_ have it all if you'd just…” he sighed and let his shoulders drop, “It's a bad deal, we were given, but it is what it is. Don't throw it away.” He let his voice turn plaintive. He had a feeling this was his final plea. “I love you.”

\----

Dorian bristled for that. It hurt. Maker, it _hurt_. It hurt so much. Nothing had changed. Rilienus would never change. Only now he wanted _everything_ with no consequences. Of course Dorian knew that it was what happened, he knew that, but he didn’t _want_ that. He wanted _him._ To himself.

He turned and leaned back over the bed to cup Rilienus’ face, “I love you too,” Dorian told him, and leaned in to kiss his forehead, “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.” It was true. That would always be the case. There would always be a place for Rilienus in his heart, despite...all this. “But I’m not going to share you,” he went on. Maybe that would appeal to his sense of selfishness. “Even if it’s not your affection, I’m not going to be _on the side_ of your _life_.”

\----

“You won't even consider it? Just… take some time to think. Please.”

He knew he was begging. It wasn't like him, and he hated the way it made his voice sound, small and weak, but Dorian was slipping away. The only thing, the one fucking thing he'd ever wanted, was slipping through his fingers like so much sand. His life really was hollow.

\----

“Won’t _you_ consider it?” he hissed, “That it might _hurt_ me to be your lover on the side?”

One hand pinched the bridge of his nose. This was too much for how bad he felt. His head was spinning and he felt like he might be sick on the floor. It was terrible. Dorian wanted to be coddled, held and made to feel better, and now he just felt... stupid. Sick and stupid. And weak. Maker, he was so weak.

Dorian took a breath then and turned back so he could sit on the edge of the bed and take Rilienus’ hand, “Listen to me,” he told him seriously as he squeezed his hand, “I would be with you in a moment, yes? But I refuse to play that game again. You _know_ why. And I’m not going to be the secret gossip of everyone who’s going to be talking about how you slip away to my bed while you leave your wife at home, no matter how terrible you might say she is.” He searched those beautiful eyes and leaned in to rest his forehead against the other man’s, “I can’t give them the satisfaction. I can’t. _You_ think on it. if you think you can make that jump... then we’ll talk, but I’m not going to do that.”

\----

_Make that jump._

Bright green eyes closed as he considered that. None of this had been in his plan, he'd lost _control_ somewhere along the way, reduced to truth and just so much emotion. It was a place he hadn't been in since… before Dorian was carted away and Rilienus’s parents mapped his life out for him. And he'd caved. The temptation of power was too great, the threat of being sent to the same place if he didn't toe the line too real.

So he'd toed it. Obedient in all things. And everything he'd ever been promised came to fruition. Status. Power. Wealth. On paper, it was a good life, and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't satisfying to snap his fingers and have anything his heart desired. Almost anything.

“Oh, Dorian,” he breathed, raising a hand to grasp the back of the man's neck. He was reluctant to let him pull away.

For a fevered moment, he imagined leaving his gilded cage behind - divorcing his wife, cutting ties with everyone he'd ever known, renouncing his throne, as it were - all to fly free with the one man who'd ever touched his secret heart. To build a new life. To start over.

With _nothing_. Nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever he could carry out of Tevinter. It wasn't _fair_. He'd played the game, he'd made sacrifices to get where he was… he'd abandoned who he was to get ahead, and Dorian was asking him to _give all that_ _up._ To just toss it in the trash and run away, just as reckless as they had been when they were dumb teenagers, back when they'd thought…

“We thought we could change the world back then, remember that?” His tone was tired and bitter. “But we _can't._ All we can do is work within it, and that's all I'm asking. You deserve better than this, and I can give it to you if you'd only say the words.” He chuckled then, sad and defeated, “But you won't. You haven't changed. You're still infuriatingly stubborn and ridiculously idealistic… and I love you for that, too.”

He pulled away then, green eyes meeting grey. He’d never been a gracious loser, but when faced with those beautiful eyes, eyes that had hounded him for the last decade, he knew he couldn't continue. Rilienus was a harsh and demanding man, a shrewd man who made shrewd decisions to get what he wanted, but in the end, the person he’d been before all the shit from 10 years ago screamed out _you're hurting him more._ He couldn't continue. He didn't want to hurt the only person he ever really loved, even if it meant giving him up.

“I suppose we were always fated to be star-crossed lovers,” he said with another sad chuckle and hung his head. “I can't leave. I'm not… I'm not as strong as you.” And, oh, that admission of weakness hurt, but it was ok because it was Dorian listening. Hot tears of disappointment and frustration pricked behind his eyes as he continued, “The only thing left to say is just… I love you and… and goodbye.”

\----

It was like someone jammed a hot poker into his chest. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his hands into fists, and just _wished_ he could forgive and forget all of the terrible things. He wished he could go back, do as Rilienus said, and not care. On some level, he wondered if maybe it would all come second to just having him... no. No, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t go back, and Rilienus couldn’t leave. They’d accepted their roles, lived them for almost ten years, and that was how it was. Asking each other to change now was absurd.

He sniffled, one hand lifted to wipe at his eyes, and Dorian went to get his clothes. They’d been laid out as to not wrinkle, which was always Rilienus’ way, and once he’d tugged everything back on and mostly gotten his hair back into place, he made his way back over to the bed and wrapped his arms around the other man. Whatever this was, he couldn’t leave like that: slinking out and sulking and crying. Dorian wouldn’t.

“You know where I am,” he murmured as he carded his fingers through that short crop of hair and kissed the top of Rilienus’ head, “and I’m here if you need me, alright?”

Just, perhaps, not the way either of them wanted right now. It hurt. Maker, it hurt worse than anything, and Dorian bent his head to bury his face in the other man’s hair just so he could remember how it felt and smelled against his skin. Everything was terrible: he felt sick inside and out, emotionally and physically, and now he had to _walk away_. He’d already had to walk away once, which had been hard enough, but to do it again felt like someone was unwinding his nerves from his body.

But he’d gone. He’d called Leliana on the way, and she hadn’t questioned him taking the day off for how he sounded. Dorian just wanted... not to be. He kind of wanted not to exist, which was a feeling he hadn’t had since he’d locked himself in the bathroom in Halward and Aquinea’s house and stayed there for hours. Dorian was shaking, sick and hungover, and the moment he got inside his flat he stripped out of his clothes and went to lie down on the cold tile floor. It was dark and cool and he didn’t have to be Dorian Pavus right now.

Dorian Pavus was the last person he wanted to be for a while.

\----

It was well into the afternoon before Cullen finally woke up. He’d worked far into the night and the wee hours of the morning, and by the time they were done, the sky was already turning gray from the impending dawn. For a moment, he considered just going to Dorian’s to catch him before work, but he was weary straight down to his bones, so he’d gone back to Samson’s for a fitful few hours of sleep.

He rolled over and grabbed his phone, frowning that he hadn’t gotten any messages. None. Last night, he’d been eaten up with worry until he finally sent Dorian a text. That one got a reply, and it made him feel better to know that Dorian was doing alright with his friend from the past, but that had been it. No good night, no good morning, no “maker, my day has been shitty what are we having for dinner?” at lunch. Nothing.

Panic bit deep then as a thought struck him. What if it _had_ been a ploy? What if his parents had set this meeting up, and now Dorian was halfway to Tevinter? Cullen’s heart raced as he tapped out a text, telling himself to just breath all the while.

_[Send Message: Dorian (2:34 PM)]: Hey. Don’t laugh, but I feel like something’s wrong. Can you text me back so I know you’re ok? Please?_

He hit send as he rolled out of bed and started pulling clothes on. If he didn’t hear back in 10 minutes, he told himself, he was on the next train to Dorian’s. When he was dressed, he sat on his futon, staring at his phone and praying it would buzz - praying that Dorian was safe and sound and just… busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay between sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen and Rilienus - that wasn't a conflict of interest or anything >.>;).


	21. Confessions [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian comes clean about his evening with Rilienus and Cullen reacts.

Ten minutes was up.

Cullen had watched the clock tick down the minutes as he sat there in Samson’s living room, willing his phone to buzz with a message from Dorian. He was rewarded with silence. The bite of panic he’d felt earlier when he first wondered if this silence meant trouble turned hungrier, and he fought to keep his hands from shaking as he grabbed his keys and made his way out the door. On the way to the train station, he tried calling, but again, nothing except Dorian’s voicemail message.

The train wasn’t going _fast_ enough. Not by half. Cullen sat in his seat, both knees bobbing up and down as he chewed his cheek until it bled. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong, and all he knew was that he needed to be there, _now._

_I should have just fucking gone this morning. He’d have let me sleep there… assuming he was there. Maker, what if he’s not there? What if they took him? I shouldn't have let him go alone. Dumb. Fucking dumb, Rutherford._

The cloud of anxiety that hung over him grew thicker. If Dorian was gone, what would he do? No. No, he had to calm down. It was more likely that Dorian had gotten busy at work and his phone had died. Far more likely that he’d just gotten caught up in some project or meeting and hadn’t had a chance to text back.

Except that had never happened, at least not for 12 hours straight.

He finally made it to Dorian’s apartment. It hadn’t taken any longer than usual, of course, but it _felt_ like the journey had taken an eternity. Shaking hands turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

“Dorian?” he called, voice high and strained, “Dorian, are you here?”

\----

He’d stayed on the floor for most of the morning, though finally around two Dorian had dragged himself up to shower and into bed. While he’d lain there, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. All he could do was think: about the past, about his life after going back to Halward and Aquinea’s, about leaving, about making his life here, and how he’d considered running back just because the man he’d loved so much back then had batted his eyelashes at him. Dorian knew he was an awful person, had always been the first to say so, but this was the first time he’d ever been disappointed in himself. Maker, he was so disappointed.

So he’d gotten into bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. Sleep, where he didn’t have to think or be himself anymore, was all he wanted. Dorian wanted to not feel sick and hungover and upset and hurt. He wanted to feel normal, like he had days ago, and not like _this_.

Maker, but he hated everything. Especially himself.

\----

Amber eyes darted around the living room and kitchen, seeking out signs that Dorian had been there. Everything was as he'd left it, even the towel he'd left on the counter was still there. There was no answer to his call, and the bile rose in his throat as he made his way to the bedroom.

_Calm down. If he's not here, he's at work. You know this. Just breathe._

But it was a hard thing to do, to quiet that fear. Dorian's parents were pure evil as far as Cullen was concerned, and he wouldn't put it past them to…

A sigh of relief derailed that train of thought as he stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Maker, there he was, lying in bed and asleep and _safe._ Cullen closed his eyes and felt his body go loose as all that tension left him feeling drained and boneless. He leaned against the door frame for a while, just breathing and collecting himself - everything was shaking from all that adrenaline that had been pumped into his system.

When he finally trusted himself to move, he kicked off his shoes and slid slowly between the sheets, the same way he did every night he got there after Dorian had gone to bed. He was just so happy to see that the man was still _there_.

He never stopped to wonder why he was sleeping in his bed in the middle of the afternoon when he should have been at work. He was just too relieved, so he slid his arms around the sleeping man and thanked the Maker that it was just his overactive imagination fucking with him.

\----

When the bed dipped, Dorian stirred. _No. No, I just want to sleep. Please don’t make me be awake._ He tensed, fingers tangling in the sheets as the headache and nausea rolled over him again. Every time he opened his eyes was worse than the last. Only now he wasn’t sure where he was, after the morning, and he sucked in a breath as he tried to figure it out.

_Home. I’m home. Maker, maybe it was all a nightmare._

Except he wasn’t alone now. Dorian’s stomach rolled, and with it came that horrible insistent feeling of _sickhappeningnowrightnow_. “Fuck,” he breathed, and stumbled out of bed to get to the bathroom so he could be sick. Hangover. Fucking thing. Too many sweet cocktails, no dinner, and mixing whatever they’d had in the hotel room. No wonder, other than his emotional state, he felt like shit.

\----

Ah, so Dorian was sick. Or, more likely, hungover, depending on how well - or how poorly - the catching up last night had been. That made sense. That answered the big “why haven’t I heard from you” question fairly well.

As soon as Dorian bolted to the bathroom, Cullen rolled back out of bed, sorry he’d woken the man if all it meant was him getting sick. He padded out to the kitchen to get a glass of water and some elfroot tabs and made his way back to the bathroom.

“These should help,” he said, keeping his voice low in case it was a hangover. He set the glass and medicine on the counter and soaked a washcloth in cold water. After he’d wrung it out, he set it next to the glass and added, “This, too.”

Cullen wasn’t sure if Dorian was the “hold my hair back” type when he got sick. Past experience told him probably not, and the last thing he wanted was to make this worse, so he withdrew to the other side of the door, saying “Tell me if you need anything else, ok?” before closing it to give the man some privacy.

\----

One of the worst things about being hungover and sick, especially on the back of something difficult, was that it tended to magnify whatever bad feelings Dorian had. It was often why, for a long time, he’d just _stayed_ drunk. Never having to sober up meant never having to feel this bad or deal with his shit. He could just... not. It wasn’t realistic, it wasn’t mature, but it had _worked_. His liver was probably several years shorter of lifespan, but that hadn’t mattered then. It hardly mattered now.

Once his stomach had emptied, though probably not for the last time, Dorian slumped over. All that sadness and hurt felt like it was pressed right up against him. It made his head hurt worse, and Dorian buried his face in his arms as a choked kind of sob escaped him. Maker, he was so stupid. Stupid and awful. Stupid and awful and now Cullen was _there_ and he didn’t know what to do about that.

What was he going to _say?_

Nothing. Nothing was his first instinct. _Say you drank too much, which is true. Say you came home and went to bed. Say it went okay and leave it. You’ve already fucked everything up with the only person who’s ever loved you. Don’t fuck it up worse with someone who you don’t deserve at all._

That wrenched another sob from him.

_Get up. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Wash your face and go out there and pretend everything’s fine. He’s going to get curious if you don’t. Go. Do it, Pavus. You can lick your wounds later._

Dorian took a shaking, wet breath. Right. He was right. His mind, the part of him under all the pain and hurt, knew better. So he’d gotten to his feet, took the elfroot Cullen had left, and wiped down his face with the cloth before he brushed his teeth. At least now he could _look_ like he was holding it together. Was he? Not really. He dabbed at his eyes to get the redness and swelling down. If he went out there looking like he was crying, Cullen would worry. He couldn’t have that.

He pulled open the door to the bathroom and swallowed. Now he had to act okay. He could do that.

Right?

\----

Cullen sat on the bed as he waited for Dorian to finish. He felt silly now, rushing over like some kind of hopped up white knight set out to rescue the princess - or in this case, the prince - from an evil dragon. Or something. Still, he was glad to have laid eyes on Dorian and touched him, even if it was just for a moment before the man was bent over the toilet bowl. His cheeks burned a bit in embarrassment, yes, but he still felt relief that nothing outside of a pretty decent hangover was wrong.

When the door opened, Cullen stood and took stock. Dorian looked completely drained, paler than usual - for him, anyway - and more than a little wobbly. All that was to be expected, though, considering what he’d just been doing.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he started, “For waking you, I mean.” Cullen wasn’t entirely sure if Dorian would want him there while he was sick, but, strictly speaking, he didn’t care. He planned to park it on the man’s couch and stay there in case he needed anything later. “Do you feel any better? If not, back to bed with you, sir,” he gently commanded with a little smile.

\----

Maker, it was almost too much. Too much sound, too much... just, seeing Cullen there and looking so sweet. The man was like a Chantry angel: blond curls, skin pale as milk, and smiling with a warmth Dorian had never known. He wanted to sink into his embrace, to let Cullen make him feel better, but how could he now? He’d woken in bed with someone _else_. With someone else he seriously considered, and wanted, to run away with. How could he cuddle up to Cullen after that?

He was a bad man, but that was despicable. Evil. Dorian wasn’t that, despite his words to the contrary.

“I’ll live,” he answered thickly, “the elfroot should kick in before too long.” One hand lifted to rub at his forehead, then through his hair. Water. He needed water. Dorian went to grab a shirt, something soft, out of the closet. As he passed Cullen, though, he held out a hand to ruffle those soft curls. He shouldn’t have, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it.

\----

A crooked grin curled scarred lips as Cullen felt Dorian’s fingers mussing his hair. He ran his own hand through afterward to push it back out of his face - he'd run out of Samson's without even grabbing a hair tie, so it hung loose around his face and shoulders.

Which reminded him.

“Well, I'm happy to hear you'll survive,” he teased a bit before continuing more seriously, “I didn't mean to just drop in, but I just had this feeling something went wrong, since I hadn't heard from you… at least not since you told me you were fine last night. Maker, I thought maybe your parents did…” he trailed off before he shrugged, “Either way, you're safe and… mostly solid. I'll go out in the living room if you want some peace and quiet. Just let me know if you need anything.”

\----

Dorian had pulled on the first thing he could find, a black long-sleeved something that helped soothe his aching skin, and he turned with a cocked eyebrow. He hadn’t heard from Cullen last night. If he had, he would have remembered that. Maker, it might have shocked him out of that haze he’d been in. To know Cullen was thinking of him... that he wasn’t alone…

“I said it was alright?” he asked gently, then frowned. Maybe he had. Maybe he just didn’t remember. Well, it certainly wasn’t alright now. It wasn’t going to be for a while.

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. There was a part of him that didn’t want to be alone, wanted Cullen to hold him and let him pretend it really was just a hangover, but the other part of him just wanted to wallow. Though... if he did, there was the chance he might have a bit of an episode. He couldn’t do that while Cullen was there. The last thing he needed was the man worrying about him.

“I think I’m up for the day now,” Dorian mused, “lying in bed waiting to be sick has never been my way.”

\----

“Must have been some night,” Cullen replied with a smile and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. He was burning with curiosity now that he was fairly certain Dorian was ok, but he’d wait until the man wasn’t wincing every time he spoke. “So, then, bad movies on the couch? I can make you some toast, if you think you can keep that down. And don’t forget that glass of water.”

He could think of worse ways to spend an evening than caring for his hungover boyfriend. Outside of the just wanting to know what in the world drove him to this state, Cullen actually didn’t mind the thought of watching TV all afternoon with Dorian’s head in his lap. He _wanted_ to take care of him, if Dorian would let him.

\----

_If only you knew._

Dorian went back to drain that glass of water, fill it again, and drain it again. At least if he was going to be sick again there would be something in his stomach. Maybe it would help. Right now he didn’t know, nor did he care. Mostly, he just wanted to close his eyes. Despite the elfroot, his head felt like it was full of cotton that had been soaked in syrup and pounded. As usual, with every hangover, Dorian kind of just wished for swift death.

When he came back out, his fingers fussed with the sleeve of his shirt, and Dorian shifted his weight from side to side. He couldn’t meet Cullen’s eyes. He just couldn’t. What was he supposed to say? Or do?

“Maybe the couch would be best,” he offered after a long moment, “I don’t really feel like being upright.”

\----

An uneasy feeling began to form in Cullen’s gut as he watched Dorian shifting around in front of him. He was getting the impression that something other than the hangover was out of sorts, and the smile he’d been wearing slipped a bit. Still, Cullen knew better than most how _unreal_ everything could seem the day after a bender, so really, it could just be the hangover. Better to not project anything more there. That always got him into trouble.

But the way he wouldn’t look Cullen in the eyes…

_Stop, he doesn’t feel well, Cullen. Leave it be for now._

“Reasonable, I think,” he smiled and led the way to the living room where he took his usual spot on the couch, waiting expectantly for Dorian to curl in beside him or lay with his head on his lap.

Well, hoping he would, anyway. That fidgeting and avoidance just didn’t sit well with him. Not at all.

\----

Dorian dropped himself on the couch, in his usual place, though he paused for a moment. Should he lean against Cullen? How terrible would it be of him to take comfort from the man he’d almost... fuck, he couldn’t even think it. Very terrible, in that case.

However, Dorian was a terrible person. The worst, actually, so what was one more thing? One more sin, one more crime against someone he cared about, would only dig him slightly deeper. If anything, he might as well enjoy it while he could. Obviously, the only thing he was good at was being ridiculously selfish.

So he moved so his head was in Cullen’s lap. Sitting up and away was too difficult anyway, so this was the best option. He pressed his cheek against the denim of Cullen’s jeans and tucked his arms up under himself. Maybe he would sleep again, which would have been good. Then he wouldn’t have to think or put on this front. He could just not exist for a while, then possibly wake up and his hangover be reasonable enough that he could start drinking again.

\----

The unease lifted a little as they settled down on the couch together. Cullen turned the TV on, but with the volume low and subtitles on - he assumed Dorian really wouldn’t want to hear it, and would likely fall back asleep, anyway. It was really just so Cullen would have something to watch, since he planned on sitting here as long as Dorian wanted him to.

As soon as Dorian seemed like he’d gotten comfortable, Cullen began to tunnel gentle fingers through his hair. Just enough so it could be felt, just enough to hopefully soothe the man back to sleep. There was nothing for a hangover like just sleeping it off, after all.

\----

Before too long, even the ambient light behind his eyelids felt like a bit too much. He was too aware of the television being on, the lights coming off of it, and Dorian rolled over so his face was pressed in against Cullen’s stomach to block the rest of the light out. He wanted to sleep, wanted to focus on the sounds from the television so he didn’t have to think, but the morning was playing in his head on a loop.

_I love you._

_I need you._

_We could have it all._

No one had ever loved him. Or needed him. Sure, they needed a warm body or perhaps someone with good conversational skills to occupy them for a night. Sure, Dorian was handsome and interesting and singularly astounding. But no one loved him. Rilienus had. Rilienus had wanted him in spite of his self righteousness and ideals, loved him even though he was stubborn and sometimes abrasive, but not _enough_ to just want _him_. He couldn’t leave the money and the job and political power and the family. Even if it made him miserable, he wouldn’t walk away. Dorian wasn’t enough.

And he never would be. The one person who knew him so well, had loved him so much, didn’t think him enough to leave the life he hated for. Dorian was only fit to be his lover where no one could see. Talitha would be praised as the patient and loving wife forever while her husband dallied with a disgraced son behind closed doors. How brave she would be, especially if they had kids, to stand with him in spite of it all. Dorian would be the one shunned and gossipped about: the leech, the mistake, the dalliance. They would smile in polite company because of both his name and his affiliation, but they’d pity everyone but him even though he would be the one to have to hear stories of the cold wife, unfulfilling marriage, and disgust at the world they inhabited.

His eyes went hot and wet before he could stop himself and, despite the soft noise from the television, it was like Dorian could hear something crack inside himself. He’d thought that wound scabbed over enough and healed with time so that it wouldn’t hurt anymore. He’d hoped for as much. Now it was as red, raw, and bleeding as it had been the first moment he’d been wounded.

_“If you choose these relationships, you’ll never have someone who truly loves you. Love isn’t fun and sex, Dorian, it’s stability. No one will ever want anything serious with you. Ever.”_

Perhaps Halward had been right. It pulled a soft sob out of him, one he was trying to keep back, and Dorian tangled his fingers in the couch cushion to try to find some leverage. Anything he could touch or squeeze to focus on. There was nothing. There was nothing and he was weeping into Cullen’s soft shirt over a man he’d never even admitted to having been with.

Maker help him, he might as well light the flat on fire for how it was all going to come crumbling down now.

\----

Cullen smiled softly as Dorian turned and pressed his face in against his stomach. _Good, he’ll go to sleep and feel better,_ he thought, satisfied, as he continued to run his fingers through dark hair. He knew it was likely annoying Dorian more than anything right now, but he couldn’t help it. The strange sensation that something was just _wrong_ that had settled on him from the moment he checked his phone that afternoon up until the odd little fidgeting earlier, it just made him want to keep contact. To keep touching Dorian, just to prove that he was there and he was safe. So, he let his fingers move through Dorian’s hair and watched the man’s face as he, hopefully, dropped off to sleep. He seemed calm enough at first, and Cullen’s heart warmed, as it always did when they could spend quiet time alone together, despite the odd circumstances.

Cullen paid more attention to the way the man breathed than the TV, and he got lost in his own meandering thoughts for a while to that rise and fall of Dorian’s chest. He thought back to the first time he’d met this incredibly put-together man at the station, and wondered a bit that here he was now, fighting a hangover with his head in Cullen’s lap. It was amazing really, what something so coincidental could spark in the end. Two people. Two different worlds. But together now and somehow _happy_.

But it was more than that to Cullen. It went beyond happy and beyond together. And one day, preferably when Dorian wasn’t so sick, Cullen would tell him. Soon, he thought, he could find the courage to tell him. _I love you._

He was pulled from his thoughts by the slightest of sounds and a tremor under his hands. His eyes focused on Dorian’s face then and widened.

_Is he… are those tears?_

Yes, something was wrong. It wasn’t just a vague feeling any longer, this was solid proof. Something was very, very wrong.

“Hey,” he soothed as he leaned over and kissed Dorian’s shoulder, “Hey, it’s ok. I’ve got you.”

\----

He did, and that’s what made it worse. Cullen would have him, and Dorian didn’t deserve him in the least. Maker help him, but that soft and soothing voice felt like an extra ten knives twisting in his chest and in his gut. Cullen would never do this. Unless somehow Ella managed to come back to life, Cullen would never do anything like that to him. Cullen wasn’t weak like Dorian was.

“You shouldn’t,” Dorian muttered in a miserable tone, “Maker’s _balls_ , I don’t deserve it.”

With another choked sob, Dorian pulled out of Cullen’s hold on him and sat up. He wiped at his eyes in an effort to get ahold of himself, but he couldn’t quite get there. All throughout him his nerves felt like they were on fire, and Dorian was shaking. It was partially the sick feeling, which was starting to make a valiant comeback now that his heart was pounding, but the knowledge that he couldn’t - _absolutely couldn’t -_ just lie about what he’d done.

Relationships weren’t easy. There were consequences when someone did wrong, and the difference between Rilienus and Dorian was that Dorian was willing to accept that. He wouldn’t ever do to Cullen what Rilienus had done, despite the heinous thing he’d already done. Dorian never wanted to make Cullen feel less than loved. Ever.

“He wanted me to go back,” Dorian choked out, “Maker, I’m so stupid.”

\----

_Go back?_

So Dorian's parents must have had something to do with all this after all… and they went through his old friend. Awful. Just awful. No wonder Dorian seemed so off-kilter today. Cullen moved to put his arm around Dorian's shoulder, to pull him closer so he could work out whatever shit lingered from what was likely a troubling evening with at least some warmth around him. He couldn't stand to see the hurt painted on Dorian's beautiful face… it hurt his heart.

“So your parents sent him after all. Ass,” he grumbled, “ _That's_ what you don't deserve. To have to deal with that.” He sighed then, “Is it something you want to talk about?”

\----

“ _No_ ,” Dorian answered as he shook his head and pulled away from him. Maker help him. He just wished Cullen could _understand_.

He pushed off the couch and got to his feet so he could pace a little, “He asked me to go back _for him_ ,” he told the other man then turned to look down at that handsome face, “because he _loves me_.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and shuddered as he sobbed, “Fucking... just _fuck._ ”

\----

_Because he loves him._

Cullen could feel the panic rising again for the second time in as many hours, though this time it wasn’t brought on by fear for Dorian’s safety - it was brought on by sudden fear for _their_ safety… the sudden fear that what they had - their friendship, their closeness, everything - was in real danger. He sat forward on the edge of the couch and rested his elbows on his knees, just to keep them from bobbing up and down. With great difficulty, he willed himself to breathe, just breathe, and hear Dorian out - Cullen had no idea what his response had been, after all. Clearly, Dorian was upset. He’d drunk himself to sickness over… something. If it was just the ghost from his past popping up or if it had been more, well, that remained to be seen.

A sense of dread settled over him as he looked up at the man pacing and cursing and crying in front of him. Something in Dorian’s expression told Cullen to prepare himself. Something told him that whatever the rest of the story was… it was going to hurt. He wasn’t sure if he’d be hurting for Dorian’s sake or his own, but one way or the other, he was going to _feel_ it.

A ragged breath escaped scarred lips before Cullen asked, “So… this man, he just pops in and… decides… after however many years… that he loves you… or?” He spoke slowly and kept his voice quiet, controlled. He felt anything but.

\----

“Yes, actually,” Dorian laughed, though it had no humor in it at all, “more or less.” He could close his eyes and see those green ones pleading at him and it made him want to be sick. “After what he _did to me_ and he begs me to go home and be the equivalent of his mistress so he can have his money and power, but still sneak out to the pool house or whatever it would have been so he could get off and complain about how _empty_ his life is.”

He shook his head, “ _Oh, but Dorian, I love you. Oh, but Dorian, it’s not the SAME with her. Oh, but Dorian, people will only MOSTLY think of you as little better than a brothel whore. Oh, but Dorian, don’t you know you’re the only important thing? Only not so important that I’d give up the things I say I hate? I wouldn’t do that. Your ideals are terribly cute, but can’t we just fuck and pretend like we’re getting everything we want?”_ his voice was high and mocking and steadily grew more and more angry. “ _I love you, you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be with even though I ignored you for almost ten years and turned my back on you after the worst time of your life, but you’ll take me back because you’re EASY.”_

Despite how sick he felt, Dorian pushed his foot against the coffee table so it scraped to the side and half the paper and magazines fell off of it. He didn’t care. He wanted to _hit_ something. “He apologized to me and I _forgave_ him.”

\----

The words flowed out of Dorian’s mouth like acid rain. They were caustic and Cullen winced, drawing into himself more and more as they flowed over him. This pain, this level of bitterness… this had been no _friendship._ This was something deep and wide and meaningful. Cullen had been a fool to think otherwise, and his chest felt heavier the longer this… diatribe went on. He couldn’t even make sense of most of it, the words fell so hot and heavy and _fast_. Too much, it was too much to process, but he understood the gist of it. Dorian and… this man… they had a history - a romantic history, had to have been for all the venom in Dorian’s voice - and this man had wronged him somehow. But he’d come to… what? Convince Dorian to run away with him? Cullen’s heart raced at the idea, but Dorian was still here… so clearly he’d said no. And no was good, right?

_I forgave him._

Amber eyes narrowed and Cullen pulled himself from his thoughts.

“You forgave him? To what end?” Cullen asked, keeping his voice calm and measured, “Dorian, what happened last night?”

\----

“Well, first it was all very civilized: I was angry, he was apologetic. We talked, he apologized for being the biggest arsehole in Thedas, and told me he’s never forgiven my parents for what they did to me, and I _believed him_ ,” Dorian scoffed then and started to pace again, “I listened. I let him go on and on about how _empty_ and _awful_ his fucking charmed, golden life is. Oh, he and his wife aren’t happy. I could have fucking told him that. I _did_. That kind of marriage only ends in both people being pissed off at each other.”

His fingers were smoothing at his mustache, the same nervous habit as always, and Dorian shook his head, “He was _so sorry_. He missed me _so much_. Fucking right,” Dorian hissed, “he’s the fucking reason I ended up in _that place,_ and he acts like it was just some... I don’t know, mistake. It didn’t happen to _him_ , after all, the fucker was too much of a coward.”

Dorian stopped, took a breath, and turned to look at Cullen. He was too angry to be upset or worried. Maybe that was the better thing. He had every _right_ to be angry, after all. That was more productive than feeling sorry for himself. “He told me he loved me and that I should go back with him, be his lover on the side so he could be happy and still get all his money and toys and influence, and I told him I wouldn’t. Not again,” he explained. Never again. Never.

“The jackass.”

\----

Well, then. No wonder Dorian had drunk himself silly after all that. No wonder he was so _angry_ right now. Cullen had never seen him so worked up. He’d seen upset and crying on the bathroom floor. He’d seen aloof detachment. He’d never seen rage like this from Dorian. It was… it was a little frightening, if he was being honest, and, despite the sense of impending disaster that was lingering, his chest ached for the man. To have his past thrown back up at him like that… to have someone who’d been important once treat him like that.

Still, Cullen felt like there was something else, something that was going unsaid. Those tears from earlier… they didn’t seem angry.

But Dorian had said no. He’d told him never again. Surely, that was it?

Another thought invaded then. _He never told you they were together before. If that was something he wanted to hide… what else is there?_

And, oh, that thought was uncomfortable. It put him right back where he was months ago when Frederic had sidled in to throw a wrench in the works. It made him question. It made him doubt. No, Dorian wasn’t telling him the whole story. He swallowed, hard, before he opened his mouth to speak, “I’m… I’m sorry you went through that,” he started, a tremor apparent in his voice for the first time since Dorian started unloading all of this. “I am,” he paused, unsure how to say what he wanted without setting Dorian off more. He decided to just go ahead, “You… never mentioned who he was to you… that you were together… why? And why did you say you were fine last night? I could have come. I _would_ have come.”

Maybe he was making this too much about himself, but he had to know. And he needed to know if that’s all there was to the story.

\----

“I didn’t talk to you last night,” Dorian pointed out, “not that I remember. I certainly would have if I did.” He gave Cullen a bit of a look then, “I don’t think I looked at my phone once beyond showing him a picture of you.”

\----

Cullen’s eyebrows raised in confusion as he dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the message. “Here, look,” he said, handing it over to Dorian, “You did. You said you were fine and just catching up. It’s right here.”

He didn’t miss the fact that Dorian hadn’t answered his other question. But he wanted to show the man that he wasn’t crazy. He’d definitely gotten one message, or else he would have been here last night to make sure Dorian was ok.

The other question could wait.

\----

One hand reached out for the phone and Dorian’s face contorted a little. He didn’t remember sending this. He would have remembered if Cullen had wanted to talk because it probably would have shocked him out of whatever nostalgic bullshit he was eating out of Rilienus’ hand. It didn’t make sense. The timestamp said it would have been a while after they met up, which... yes, Dorian had been drunk, but never _that_ drunk.

“I didn’t send this to you,” he answered, and held the phone back out as he started to swear again. Only some of it was in Common and the rest some of the ugliest Tevene he could conjure up. “Oh, the bastard... he knew. He fucking _knew_ if I saw that I’d wake up and snap out of it,” Dorian hissed, “Maker, I could _kill_ him.”

\----

_He didn’t even mean to send me that one message. He never even thought to let me know he was ok. I was an afterthought in whatever this was._

And… _snap out of it_. That phrasing stuck in Cullen’s mind and he couldn’t help but form a fuller picture, his own mind’s fearful interpretation of just what had happened. He needed to know, but Maker, he didn’t want to know.

“Snap out of _what_? What am I missing?” he asked, feeling a hot flush wash over him. He was stuck between hurt and angry already. Maker help him, he was _scared_ of what else there could be.

\----

And this, this moment right now, was the reason Dorian didn’t want Cullen to know. He knew better, of course, and that telling him was the best thing. Dorian knew that. However, he would have rather liked to just be _angry_ without having to explain. Or worry about how someone else was going to take it. Dorian wanted to be pissed off and seethe and let that wound scab over again. He wanted to cauterize it with anger, but he couldn’t with Cullen sitting there and looking at him like _that_.

He took a breath, clenched his hands at his sides, then gestured to himself, “Congratulations, darling, you’re dating the _second_ largest arsehole in all of Thedas,” Dorian told him, “I went and met up with the one person in my entire life who ever wanted me for just... being myself? The man who loved me, and we made all these plans to give the finger to the Imperium and run away together, but he got scared and let me rot in that treatment facility because he elected to play nice and marry the girl and do what he was supposed to and I wouldn’t. Then, he meets up with me and says _all_ the pretty words I’ve been dying to hear for almost ten years because I’m stupid and weak, and let myself get blind drunk and lost in all that nostalgia and pretending like he still loved me as something more than a toy he wanted but can’t have.”

One hand waved dismissively, “ _Then_ he invites me for a nightcap, I accept, and end up sleeping in the same bed with him. So that’s where I was last night: drunk, stupid, weak, _easy_ , and half considering believing him because he told me he loves me, always loved me, and always will. That’s what you’re missing. Because I knew if I told you about our past, you would have gotten incredibly upset.” Perhaps it wasn’t fair to take it out on Cullen. It wasn’t, actually. That wasn’t fair in the least. What also wasn’t fair, however, was the fact that Cullen would get all wet-eyed and sulky over the fact that Dorian had people before him.

Dorian had never once gotten upset over Ella’s existence. It wasn’t the same thing, not really, but it made him angry that he accepted that part of Cullen’s life, but Cullen apparently couldn’t accept the same about Dorian’s. Even if he’d said “we were lovers once, not anymore,” it still would have been a _problem_.

“You have every right to be angry at me for not telling you,” he continued, “and you’re right, I’m a shitty person. I never hid that from you. But he loved me once, apparently still does in whatever fucked up way, and I loved him once, too. He’s the only person who ever has. I didn’t fuck him, though. I didn’t make love to him, nothing like that. I was drunk, I stayed there, I got up this morning and came straight back here after I realized what the situation was.”

His hands balled into the hem of his shirt, “So be angry, I don’t fucking blame you. I’m angry at me too.”

\----

Cullen breathed, a long low exhale as he fought to steady himself. Every word, every syllable hit him like a bullet, went right through him and left bleeding holes. There was so much, too much, it was far too much to take in. His mind caught the thread, snagging on phrases and words, then lost it again… but the meaning behind them solidified eventually and confirmed what he’d known all along.

He wasn’t enough. He would _never_ be enough.

The one person who wanted Dorian just for being himself? The one person who ever loved him? What the fuck had all this been for? What did any of it mean if that’s what Dorian took out of it - that Cullen couldn’t be counted in that number? He hadn’t said the words, no, but he’d fucking _lived it._ He’d _tried_ , Maker help him, he’d tried to show Dorian he cared, that he loved him. All those times, all those times he tried to tell Dorian, they flew in his face like a cold wind, burning and freezing at the same time.

Dorian hadn’t even _thought of him._ Not as someone who mattered like that, apparently. Worse, it really _didn’t matter one fucking bit_ how Cullen felt, did it? Not if pretty words were all it took. Clearly, he _had_ been the only fool in love, and that hurt more than anything Dorian had done with this other man. He was alone - even when he thought he’d found someone, he was still alone.

Everything felt empty, hollow, deflated. He didn’t even have the energy to be angry - he just wanted it to be…

_Numb. Be numb. Numbnumbnumbnumb. Don’t feel this. You’re not strong enough for this, and you knew that when you got yourself into this mess. You knew that before he even came to hear you play._

He felt that old slump return to his shoulders, that same old feeling of shame, as he stared at his socked feet. Of course this was how it panned out. Why did he ever dare to dream otherwise?

Dorian had told him to be angry. Eventually, he thought he might be. But now, all he could feel was a bitter sense of resignation. Anything more than that, and he would be undone. He sat there in silence for a moment after it was all said, Dorian standing over him all bitterness and fury. Cullen didn’t know what to say. Or rather, there was so much to be said that his mind locked itself down. All he thought was, _Shoes. I need to get my shoes._

He nodded, eyes darting around everyplace that Dorian wasn’t, and rose from the couch to make his way into Dorian’s bedroom where he’d left his shoes. Had he been happy to be here before? He couldn’t remember, it seemed so long ago. A strange calm settled over him as he sat on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes. He was running. He was going to run and hurt _elsewhere._ His mind latched onto that plan and settled a bit.

When he came back into the living room he paused.

_Something. Say something._

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was choking. He was weak. He didn’t know what to say.

He turned then, and headed for the door.

\----

Silence was not what Dorian expected, honestly. Maybe he should have. Cullen typically retreated into himself when he was upset, but to see him just get up and walk away felt like yet another knife in his chest. He’d wasted so much energy being angry at Rilienus and himself. Cullen deserved better than that. He deserved someone who wouldn’t let this shit happen and then get angry about it.

That said, when Cullen just walked past him Dorian felt a sense of panic rise in him. He’d told Cullen to be angry, and he wished he _would_ , but the fact that he was just walking away was more terrifying than anything. He wouldn’t talk. Nothing. Dorian had talked _too_ much, he knew that, but he’d expected something. anything.

“Cullen,” Dorian prompted as he ran forward and caught the other man’s arm, “be mad at me or something, yell and get in my face, but don’t just leave. Please.” His fingers tangled in Cullen’s sleeve, “I’m... awful, and I know that. I’ve hurt you worse than you deserve, and I don’t deserve you staying and talking to me, but please don’t go. Not like this.”

\----

A hot spike of anger did work its way through him when Dorian grabbed his arm. _Why? Why should I stay?_ Wasn’t Dorian just railing against some stranger for having his cake and eating it, too? How was this any fucking different? He wanted Cullen to stay now that he was hurting because _some other man_ hadn’t been what he’d wanted. What did he want? For Cullen to help him pull himself together after that?

“Stop it,” he said with a cold forcefulness as he twisted his arm free. “I _can’t_. I just fucking can’t.” He took a breath and let the wave move through him before softening, “Please, just… let me go. I can’t.”

He turned again and walked to the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob before he sighed, heavy and sad and exhausted. He kept his back to Dorian as he spoke.

“... what you said… that he was the only one who ever wanted you… loved you? You were wrong. _You were wrong_.”

Another breath and the feeling of hot tears pressed against his eyes and he had to go. The walls were closing in and he was drowning. He had to go.

“Goodbye, Dorian.”

Cullen walked out into the hallway beyond Dorian’s door, closing it softly behind him, and made his way out to the street. Alone. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	22. Confessions [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen works to turn his mind off and Dorian tries to make amends.

 

So he’d spent the next few days drunk and trying not to think. About any of it. Dorian didn’t want to think about Rilienus, his own weakness, Cullen’s anger, how he’d betrayed Cullen, or the possible implications of what had come out of Cullen’s mouth when he left. It was all too much. What _wasn’t_ too much was the amount of wine he’d drunk until he couldn’t see straight.

Until Monday. Dorian was a righteous arsehole all day: angry and snapping and short-tempered. He was angry at himself for everything he’d let happen. And he had let it happen. He’d let it happen, and then expected Cullen to let him off about it. It was selfish and terrible, and Dorian knew it.

He was the worst kind of person.

_[Send Message: Cullen(2:45pm)]: I know u hate me, i dont blame u. Im just sorry that i made really shitty choices and hurt u because of them. u didnt deserve that. Im not asking u to forgive me but can we talk? when ur ready._

\----

After Cullen left Dorian’s that evening, he’d just… walked. He walked the city, smoking cigarette after cigarette with shaking hands. It was cold, his nose ran and his fingers froze, but he barely felt any of that. He barely felt anything at all as his feet led him on. He couldn’t go back to Dorian’s and he didn’t want to go to Samson’s. There was too much temptation to lose himself in both places. So he’d just… walked. For hours, until his steps took him to the studio.

_Work. I can work and this won’t be so fucking close._

So he’d gone in, and Garrett had given him work to do. The man had raised an eyebrow both at Cullen’s haggard appearance and the fact that it was a day off, but that was it. That weekend, he lived at the studio, playing and doing whatever he could find, until Garrett kicked him out each night.

“Go rest. Maker, at least get something to fucking _eat_.” He’d admonished, gently enough. And Cullen had left each time, but he couldn’t be alone with himself. No. His thoughts turned vicious, eating at him when he had time to think. Part of him knew something that would keep all that at bay. Part of him _wanted_ that something, but if he stayed busy, he could remain above that call. So when Garrett made him leave, he found himself setting up his gear and playing at train stations. But not _that_ one, no. All the while, a little voice in him laughed. _Full circle_ , it sneered. And it felt that way, but this time he wasn’t playing for tips. He didn’t need the money. He needed to not think.

When he was so tired he couldn’t see, he’d make his way to Samson’s for a few fitful hours of sleep. Samson had been more invasive than Garrett, asking first what was wrong with him and then for Dorian’s address when Cullen had told him simply, “It’s over.” Cullen had managed a weak smile then. He hadn’t given Samson any details, but the man immediately jumped to his defense. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He _could_ just fall back into that life with Samson again, scraping the bottom and not even caring, but he’d had a taste of something _more,_ and he found that he’d garnered just enough will to resist. It helped that he had a job.

So he’d worked. He’d played. He barely slept and didn’t eat. He smoked constantly and drank too much coffee. He did everything but _think._

Monday afternoon found him sitting behind the mixing board at the studio. Garrett was teaching him how to work it since he’d run out of other things to give Cullen to do. It was technical work that required focus and a keen ear, and Cullen found it easy to lose himself in it.

Until his phone started buzzing in his pocket, that is. He pulled it out and checked the message - Dorian - and his heart stopped for a moment.

“You ok, man? You’re sure you don’t want a break? Maybe answer that text?” Garrett asked, voice full of concern.

“No, it’s fine,” Cullen answered as his thumb swiped across the screen, dismissing the text. What could he say at this point? He hadn’t given himself a moment to process, so he was still back there, stuck in that moment in Dorian’s apartment. He was no more prepared to talk about it now than he had been when he pulled away from those hands grabbing at his shirt.

\----

Tuesday  
_[Send Message: Cullen (5:35PM)]: Im not letting this go until u talk to me_

Wednesday  
_[Send Message: Cullen (11:56AM)]: So i deserve the silent treatment. i know. but im not going to stop talking until u either tell me to stop or we have this out_

Thursday

_[Send Message: Cullen (7:18PM)]: Maker just answer me so i know ur alive_

By Friday, Dorian was beside himself. This was the longest they hadn’t talked since they’d met, more or less, and he was terrified he’d pushed Cullen to do something stupid. This was all on Dorian, despite any lingering issues Cullen would have had with him having had lovers before him, and it was all on Dorian to _fix_ it. Even if he couldn’t fix _them_ he needed to do something. Leaving it like they had was the worst thing he could do.

He only knew Cullen’s address because they’d talked about it a few times. Dorian had tucked that information away just in case, for an emergency, and now he was actually going to use it. Whether Cullen would want to see him, he had no idea, but he had to try. Trying was one of the hardest things for him, and he wanted to make sure he did everything he could. Should this end, though it seemingly already had, Dorian wanted to be sure he’d done every possible thing he could think of to make it right. So he’d taken a cab to the shabbier end of town, stared up at the dingy building, and climbed the stairs to stand in front of the door.

It took a moment to steel himself, then he knocked. Maker, he just wanted five minutes. More than five, but five would be a good start. Just... just five to talk. To try. To do something.

\----

Samson was reheating the least questionable container of leftover takeout that he could find in the fridge when a knock at the door interrupted him. “Andraste’s sweet ass,” he grumbled, “This better be fucking important. I’m starving.”

He didn’t know who he expected to see when he opened the door, maybe Maddox had forgotten his keys again, but it wasn’t the well-dressed-but-slightly-frantic looking stranger who greeted him. But stranger wasn’t right, was it? This could only be one person. Cullen’s man. Ex. Whatever. Either way, he was a prick, Samson was sure, and his appearance did nothing to improve his sour mood. He considered slamming the door in the man’s face for just a moment, but that wouldn’t be any fun. Samson cocked an eyebrow and sneered as he decided to play a bit, to see what this upper-crust asshole had to say for himself. 

“What do you want?”

\----

Okay, so not Cullen. Shit. One of the roommates. Samson or Maddox.

“Is Cullen home?” Dorian asked, “I, uh... we haven’t met, but I’m Dorian Pavus. I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for a few days and was hoping I could catch him here.”

Please let him be home. Please.

“Or if he’s not here would you know where he is?”

\----

“I know who you are,” Samson growled, “You’re awful fucking _polite_ for a horse’s ass.” He chuckled then. It was a harsh sound, without much humor. “But where are _my_ manners? You asked a question. Cullen’s not here, and I’m sure as shit not telling you where he is, so go fuck yourself.”

\----

Fuck. Dorian set his jaw then, “Look, I’m trying to _not_ be a horse’s arse, here,” he snapped, “and trying to apologize to him. That’s all I want, then I’ll leave him alone. Please just tell me if he’s at work or... playing somewhere.”

\----

“Stuff your act,” Samson jeered back, “You just want to make yourself feel better. Write him a letter… here, I'll even go get you some paper and a pen… then you can get to the next one with a clear conscience and leave him the fuck alone.”

\----

He wanted to say something terrible back. He really did. That, however, wouldn’t accomplish anything. This was supposed to be about doing something good and right. Arguing with Cullen’s shithead roommate certainly wasn’t that. So he took a breath, turned on his heel, and made his way back down to the street. The first stop failed. The second, he hoped, wouldn’t.

Another cab ride, back uptown, and Dorian was dropped off in front of the studio he’d only been to once. That had been a different time. It had been stressful, reasonably terrible, but not like this. This was so much worse. So he went in and spoke to the receptionist, weight shifting between his feet, and Dorian licked his lips as he watched the young man pick up the phone to dial.

In the studio, the phone rang a few times and Garrett reached over to grab it from the desk, “Yeah, hello?” he answered, blinked a couple of times, “uh huh. Yeah, hang on,” he went on and pushed the phone against his shoulder before tipping back in his chair to look over at Cullen, “Hey, uh... it’s the front desk. Says someone’s here to see you, man.”

\----

He knew who it was. Cullen had received a… colorful… text from Samson, warning him that his “dickhead uppity ex” was looking for him. He'd cringed at the use of those two letters - ex - but in the end, he didn't know how else to think about it.

_Goodbye, Dorian_

That's what he'd said, though he wasn't sure then if he was ending things or buying time. It felt… unsettled, just for the fact that he'd driven himself to exhaustion with all the running he'd done. He was weary, fatigued to the bone, and _cold_ , even when he wasn't. Even he knew he couldn't keep this up for much longer before he broke. And he didn't want to break.

He was, however, worn down. This had to stop, one way or the other, and he'd rather it didn't end with him in some gutter somewhere or worse. Cullen closed his eyes and took a shaky breath as Garrett waited for his response.

“Yeah, ok,” he replied, “Tell them I'm on my way. If it's who I think it is… I might not be back. I'll try.”

“Go, you're not even supposed to be here. Labor laws, you're breaking them,” Garrett teased gently as he turned his attention back to the phone, “He's on his way.”

Cullen clapped Garrett on the shoulder before heavy steps led him down the hall towards the lobby. Towards Dorian.

He pushed the door open, and there he was, and Maker, how it hurt to see him. Conflicting desires bubbled up then. He wanted to run to him and just let all this hurt out. He wanted to scream at him for causing it in the first place. He didn't want to look at him, but he was all he could see.

Shoulders slumped and jaw working, he approached and simply said, “Outside.”

\----

“Sure,” Dorian answered with a nod, and turned to follow Cullen. His heart was pounding. There for a moment he hadn’t expected Cullen to agree. He expected to have to sit outside and wait for the man, which was hardly dignified but Dorian would have done it. Now that he had him there…. Maker, maybe he should have figured out what he was going to say. Shit.

When they got outside, Dorian shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, “I didn’t want to disturb you at work if you’re in the middle of something important,” he offered, “just, ah... I didn’t know how else to find you. Your roommate wasn’t terribly helpful, which I imagine you know.”

\----

Pale fingers lit a cigarette and Cullen took a draw before answering, “Samson. He can be that way if you catch him at the right time. I’m sorry if he was rude. I… I didn’t ask him to do that.”

But Samson was hardly why Dorian was there. He took another drag of his cigarette as he looked up at the cloudless night sky. Did Dorian expect him to start this? He didn’t know where to begin. “You wanted to talk?”

\----

“I wanted to apologize to you,” Dorian told him, then held up his hands, “I’m not looking for you to forgive me. I dumped a lot of horrible shit onto you the other day, and there’s no excuse for it.” He took a breath and moved so he could reach out and touch Cullen’s arm, “but I did really wrong by you, and I feel... horrible. Not because I got caught or because you left and I wanted you to stay, but because I hurt you. I never wanted you to feel any less than…” Dorian paused, and bit at his lip. To say too much more than that would poison the sentiment. “I care about you a lot, and there’s no reason in the world why I did what I did other than it was something stupid that shouldn’t have happened. I wanted you to hear that from me. And that I’m sorry. More than sorry.”

His hand hadn’t connected with Cullen’s arm yet, and Dorian hesitated before he tucked his hands back into his pockets, “I ruined something really good that was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, if ever, because... I don’t even fucking know why, honestly. I’m sorry I hurt you. You didn’t deserve that.”

\----

“It’s… alright,” Cullen answered with a tight voice, his gaze still on the sky, “I know why... and I don’t know what I expected. I thought… I always thought to myself ‘I’m not enough for him. I’m not good enough. I’m lucky he’s spending time with me. One day, he’ll wake up and see that.’ But I thought I might be enough, I might be if I could just get back to where I was… before. And I tried, I did, I fought that voice... but in the end, even that wasn’t enough.” He took a shaking kind of breath. He wished he could be angry right now. It would be normal to be angry. Anger would give him the energy he needed, but all he was was miserable. “So it’s ok. I get it. You were with me because I was _there_. Maybe you’re just now realizing that, I don’t know. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

But he really wouldn’t be, he knew that. How long would it be before this pace crushed him? How long until the thoughts in his head and the cracks in his heart drove him to find some other sort of distraction? He’d loved this man - he loved him still - and he was telling him it was ok to walk away. It was bitter and it stuck in his throat.

\----

To hear that... that Cullen had thought that about him, and about himself, made Dorian feel sicker than any hangover could. No. No, no, no. Cullen was _good_ and look what he’d done to him. “That,” he choked out, “is _not_ why I was with you.” He did reach out and grab Cullen’s arm so the man would look at him, “and I don’t... fuck, maybe I’ve completely screwed this thing with you. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to stay away from me, but please don’t think that you were anything but someone that I cared about. That I _care_ about.”

He closed his eyes and tangled his fingers in Cullen’s sleeve again, “please,” Dorian prompted, “please believe me.” Tears had started to well up and it was making it hard to speak, “I fucked up worse than I ever have, and I know that, but I want to fix it. I want to try to fix it if you’ll let me.”

\----

Cullen felt those hands grabbing him, and his skin burned under his clothes at the touch. He saw those eyes, beautiful and set in a perfect face, welling with tears and he _wanted_ to believe him. Maker, he wanted to throw caution to the wind and give in and feel those arms around him. He didn’t want to hurt any more. There was so much of that in his life already, he just wanted this one thing to be good.

But could he live knowing that, had the other man given Dorian what he wanted, neither of them would be standing here right now?

“I went to talk to Ella about you,” he started after a long while, “Back after… after all that shit with your auction and that one singer we had that ran us ragged. You remember how bad it got, right? I knew that night I found you on the bathroom floor. I _knew_ without a doubt how I felt. So I went to tell her, the next day. I told her that… that you made me feel whole. That I was stronger with you,” he paused for a deep breath, “that I love you.” He met Dorian’s eyes then, “But none of that matters. It doesn’t _matter_ how _I_ feel. If he’d… if he’d done what you wanted… would you still be here?” His mouth twisted then, and he felt his own eyes filling, tears threatening to fall over golden lashes. Oh, this was agony. To have him so close, to have him looking so fucking sad and sorry, to want nothing more than to wrap him up and cry until all this poison was out…. but the hurt was too deep. That chasm was too wide. Cullen didn’t know if he could even reach him over it. “I should have told you sooner. Chalk it up to fear. But I didn’t and now… I don’t know if we can fix this. It hurts too much.” And those tears did fall then, and he didn’t care. Let them fall.

\----

“I wouldn’t have gone,” he replied quickly, then shook his head, “but that’s not the point.” Maker, all he wanted was to pull Cullen into him and try to make him feel better. He’d made Cullen this upset. That was Dorian’s doing, and watching it was the worst torture he’d ever experienced.

He took a step closer into Cullen’s space and rested his hands on Cullen’s arms, “I’m sorry,” Dorian murmured, “Cullen, I’m so sorry.” Of course he’d ruined everything. He’d taken complete advantage of him, and Dorian knew it. The man cared for him and he’d just... ruined it. Completely ruined it. “You’re important to me,” he told him, “and I’ve ruined this, and I’m so sorry. There’s a hundred things I wish I’d done differently or not done at all, and I don’t... I don’t know.”

One hand lifted and Dorian wiped at his eyes and his nose, “I didn’t think there was a chance in the Void you would care about me like that.”

\----

_You’re important to me._

Cullen didn’t realize _how much_ of him had wanted Dorian to say he loved him, too. How much of him was holding out for that, thinking maybe that would be enough to help him move past this hurt, enough so he could reach over that chasm and fall into the warmth they’d once shared. He felt even that slim hope slip away as Dorian spoke. A heavy fog fell over him, and he felt himself going numb. It didn’t matter. He’d put it out there, it had hardly been the _right time_ that he’d been struggling to find before, but he’d said it and what he got was “you’re important to me.” He reached both hands up to press palms against his forehead, fingers tangling in and grasping loose golden curls.

“So it was just me,” Cullen all but groaned, “I don’t… Maker, I don’t think I can do this any more.”

\----

“Hey, hey,” Dorian prompted, and gently pulled Cullen’s hands away from gripping his hair like that. He cupped Cullen’s face, lifted his chin so they were looking at each other, and Dorian took a breath. “Look, I don’t... I don’t want to tell you that I love you like this,” he told him, “because if I did, you’d never know if I actually meant it or if I just wanted to keep you here. But I’ve... I’ve thought it, alright? I have.”

He ran a hand through those curls, and Dorian moved out of his space, “I have a bad track record with that, obviously, but…” he stopped and sighed before he rubbed a hand over his face. Having this out on the street wasn’t helping either of them. “I don’t want to talk about this in an alley,” Dorian told him, “can we go somewhere more private? If you think you can? I... I understand if you can’t, I get it, but if you can let’s find somewhere else.”

\----

Part of him cried out that he shouldn't. That it was dangerous to be alone right now when he was so raw and vulnerable. That voice advocated for more time, more space, more _anything_ that wasn't making decisions while looking into those grey eyes in his current state. But he was just so fucking tired. Days on end of constantly going, constantly running had taken their toll, and now he just felt hollowed out and empty and he longed for comfort. Something. Anything to make this go away. Even if it ended up back where they were before this awful shit happened, even if he went back to wondering if he was good enough… that would be better than all this. Than the loneliness that stretched out before him like a bleak wasteland.

He dragged his forearm across his face, drying his eyes like a kid. That was how he felt, after all, just… reduced in the aftermath of all this emotion. He straightened then and nodded. “… where?”

\----

“We can go somewhere neutral,” he suggested, “or... my place? I would understand if you didn’t want to go there, though.” Dorian thought for a moment, then nodded toward the road, “Come on. Let’s walk for a bit. I think I know somewhere that’s not just my flat.” There was a small park, one Dorian sometimes enjoyed when the weather was nice, and that was probably better than forcing Cullen into his space right now.

As they walked, Dorian stole glances off to the side toward Cullen and he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry I never made you feel comfortable enough to tell me how you felt,” he offered as they went, “and I’m sorry I never told you how I felt. I should have. I should have told you that it was something I felt even if I wasn’t sure about using the word.”

\----

Cullen stopped walking, putting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder to stop him, too. They stood facing one another under the light of the streetlamps above. This was hardly better than out on the street in front of the studio, but Cullen didn’t care. It was late enough that there weren’t many people around, and even if there were, it wouldn’t matter. He didn’t want to wait until they got wherever they were going. He was tired. He was heartsick. And he just wanted one thing.

A pale hand reached up, wavering for just a moment before moving forward to cup Dorian’s face. Cullen let his thumb stroke along the man’s cheekbone. “You could… if you’re sure… you could tell me now,” his voice was low and earnest, his eyes were wide and, yes, hopeful.

\----

Maker help him. Dorian blinked, looked up into those amber eyes that looked sad and desperate and hurt and so many other things that Dorian had put there. It made his heart race, and he lifted his hands to run along Cullen’s arms. He leaned in, rested his forehead against the other man’s, and took a breath. He hadn’t said these words and meant them, not like this, in a very long time. Even a few days ago with Rilienus, true as they had been, hadn’t felt like this. “I love you, Cullen,” Dorian murmured, “for what it’s worth, I do. I really do.”

\----

Amber eyes closed, and the thoughts in his head finally, finally stilled. Cullen’s shaking heart calmed and he just breathed in that moment, warm and at peace for the first time in days. His other hand reached up to join the first so both cradled Dorian's head and held them together like that. He just wanted to stay together like that and _forget._ There was nothing but the two of them in this whole wide world. In this moment, there was no hurt. No man from Tevinter come to take this from him. There was just Cullen and Dorian and their shaking breaths and beating hearts. “It's worth more than you know,” Cullen finally whispered, voice hoarse and thick and low, “... and I love you, too.”

\----

He smiled a little for that and reached up to run his fingers through those blond curls again. Saying the words was good. Dorian was... glad, in a way. He was still worried this would come back to Cullen thinking he’d only said them to win him back, but that was for another time. Cullen loved him. That was actually quite hard to get his head around. It was wonderful, and it made a warmth pool low in his stomach, but ‘love’ had always come with so many caveats that Dorian had often felt like it was something to fear. What expectations and rules would Cullen put on him to have it? Again, that was for another time.

“And as wonderful as that is,” he began again before he lifted his head to look into Cullen’s face, “and it _is._ It doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you like I did.” Dorian bit a little at his lip, “it kind of makes it worse that I did. I don’t want to ruin the moment, but... I don’t want to act like just saying that is going to make this better.”

\----

Cullen blinked slowly and took a step back, shaking his head as everything came back into focus. Maker, he was just so worn out and raw… he'd been focused on single strands rather than the whole tangled up web this mess was. He'd been focused on what he needed to make it feel better for _now._ Typical, really, when he considered his track record.

That awful bottomless feeling came back, and he realized he never got an answer to the question - if that man had done everything Dorian had wanted, would this, any of this, be happening right now? If all things were equal, would he have chosen Cullen at all, or, since they weren't, had that stranger from Tevinter made the choice for him?

_Fuck._

“No. No, you're right, of course,” Cullen sighed wearily, “It wasn't fair of me… to make you say that.” He ran his hands through his hair and bit the inside of his cheek as he thought about how, or _if_ , they could move forward. How could this ever be better? “But what can I do?” he asked, defeated, “What is there to do?”

\----

He took another breath to try to ease the pounding in his chest, and Dorian lifted a hand to run along Cullen’s arm, “I was in a really terrible place when I tried to explain all this before, which isn’t an excuse and I know that, but maybe now that I’m not so angry as to kick a table... I can talk a little more rationally. Explain and it not sound like I’m angry at you for anything, which I’m not. Not at all.”

Dorian nodded toward the park again, “I’m not saying you have to agree with anything I say, or... forgive me, or even that we can fix this. But I do _love you_ , Cullen, alright? You deserve more than some blase rehash while I was too hungover and angry both at him and myself to explain properly. If, you know, after we talk you don’t think you can do this, then I completely understand. I don’t want to hurt you further, but maybe just hear me out? Please?”

\----

_Do I really want to hear any of that again? Maker, it was terrible the first time._

But there was sense to Dorian’s words, even Cullen had to reluctantly agree. If they were to move out of this, if they had any hope of fixing it at all, they had to talk. It was just so _damn hard_ to do, and it was just going to hurt more, he knew it. But after a week of frantically avoiding this, working himself to near-exhaustion just to not think about it… maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to ask his questions and see what Dorian said… to see if _love_ could stand against his answers.

He nodded then, and turned to the park they’d been approaching before he’d stopped them for his little… aside. “I can listen. I think I can at least do that,” he said as he started walking. “... at least I’ve been promised I won’t get yelled at,” he added with the weakest of smiles.

\----

“I... shouldn’t have yelled,” Dorian admitted softly with a smile of his own. At least Cullen was willing to talk. That was good. It was what he wanted. Maker, but the man looked exhausted, though, and Dorian just wanted to make it better. Maybe he couldn’t, but he wanted to try.

As they walked he tucked his hands in his pockets again and licked his lips, “I’m not sure if I should start with who Rilienus is or if you want to just talk about what happened,” he went on, “um, maybe a quick recap so it makes a little more sense?” Grey eyes lifted to look over that handsome profile, and he took a deep breath. “Rilienus and I have known each other since we were... Maker, primary school aged. We were friends for a long, long time. When we got older, especially when we got into highschool and Uni, we both sort of realized our sexuality... together. He was my first: kiss, relationship, sex, everything. Obviously, it was in secret, since our parents would have had several aneurysms, but we were together for a long time. Probably from fifteen until into our twenties.”

It felt so strange to tell this to someone. Felix had been the only one to know seriously, though Dorian had left out a lot of the details lest he go after Rilienus and try to hurt him. It was probably the only reason he would have given him Dorian’s email in the first place that he didn’t hate him quite as much as he could have.

“He and I always talked about how fucked up everything was, but he was a lot more willing to forgive the grossness of it if it meant he got what he wanted,” Dorian went on, then shrugged, “he was spoiled. We both were. I wanted to run away and leave it all because I’d be damned if I let anyone tell me who I was going to love or be with, and we had this plan that we’d meet up and just go. It was all planned. Then, I guess he got cold feet and told his parents that I had this plan, they told mine, and I told them we were in love and were going to run and he... denied it. I don’t know if they pushed him, threatened him or whatever, but it ended up with him picking his inheritance over me. I got sent to ‘therapy’ and he got engaged to the woman he’s married to now.”

Dorian was quiet for another moment, and he cast a glance sideways to try to gauge Cullen’s reaction. If he had one at all. It was a lot to process, and Dorian knew it. But he wanted Cullen to know the whole story. He’d promised himself he’d do everything he could, which sadly included spilling a lot of things he would have never spoken about otherwise.

“When I came back, he ignored me. The wedding had been pushed up, probably to cover any scandal, and neither he nor his family would associate with me. I was... it wasn’t good. Between the issues with Halward and Aquinea, I’d sort of hoped that he’d still be there for me after, and he wasn’t. Things got worse, and that’s about when Gereon and Livia took me in so I could at least somewhat function until I decided to leave. I hadn’t spoken to him since before I got sent away until he sent me that email. I was really angry for a long time. Really angry. Hurt, too. I couldn’t believe someone who said they loved me more than anyone could ever do that and that he was just being kept from me, but... no, he picked it. He chose to do it. And he left me alone.”

\----

There were a lot of words. So many words washed over Cullen’s worn mind, and it took him a while to process. In the end, it came down to love and fucked up parents. This Rilienus, he’d been at the center of that bizarrely intense hurricane of emotion and hormones that was young love. The first love. Hard enough on its own… unbearable when put into the context of Dorian’s story.

Any other night, Cullen would have been full of support, full of anger at what these people did, and just sad for what Dorian had had to go through. Tonight? His heart was far too wrung out. He did feel those things, but they were dull and secondary to what he knew the next part of the story was going to be. To his own pain.

As they walked, they came to a bench that overlooked the little park. It was secluded enough, and Cullen was tired enough that it looked a little like paradise.

“Can we sit, please?”

He knew he should say something, anything, but it was overwhelming, to say the least, and in the context of everything else… his mind offered nothing.

\----

“Yeah, of course,” Dorian nodded, and gestured to the bench so they could sit. He offered a small smile then and rested his arms on his knees. It wasn’t the most comfortable place, but better than standing and less weird than going back to Dorian’s for now. “I know you’re tired,” he offered, “and that was a lot, but I wanted you to hear the whole thing from me.” One hand hesitantly reached out to rub along Cullen’s back then, “feel free to interrupt if you need to.”

\----

_Should I allow this? What's the protocol for listening to the man you love tell you why he hurt you?_

But he allowed that hand to pull down his back. Even more, he felt himself warming at the touch. He knew he shouldn't. Somewhere, a voice was telling him not to lose himself again - he'd done enough earlier by telling Dorian that he loved him - and if he was to make some sort of decision at the end of all this, he needed to be somewhat together. Which was, unfortunately, not at all how he'd felt for days now. Still, he could try.

“Please don't,” he asked softly, “I don't mean to be hurtful, but I can't… I can't think clearly right now if you touch me.” He turned big, sad eyes towards Dorian “I'm sorry. It's just… too much.”

And he _was_ sorry. It was cold without that warm hand on him. It was harder, but that was how it had to be.

\----

He moved his hand away immediately, if only because he didn’t want to make it worse, and just let it rest in his lap. That was... well, it wasn’t _fine_ , but Dorian understood. “It’s alright,” he replied, and licked at his lips.

Now... the worst of it. Still, Dorian was confident he could explain it. It might not help anything, but at least he and Cullen would have that closure. Even if this didn’t work out and he and Cullen couldn’t get past it, Dorian had tried. That was important to him.

“It’s not right, and it’s not a good reason, but I guess what happened was that I got lost in the nostalgia with him when we met up,” Dorian explained, “I laid into him about it, and he actually apologized. That... surprised me. We talked a bit more, I told him about you and us and... I showed him a picture of you and he said he was happy for me. I don’t know if that was supposed to be a cover or not, but…” He shrugged.

He had thought of Cullen. He had. Not when it had counted, not until the morning, but he had.

“Apparently, he decided he’d had enough of the cold wife and sham marriage that he wanted to find the ‘one person’ that he ‘loved more than anyone.’ And... I ate it up. I wanted to believe he really was sorry for what he’d done, and that he just wanted to be close again, and by then I’d had a few too many, and he asked me to go back for a nightcap.”

\----

Despite the lack of anger, the softer tones, it hurt just as much to hear this as it had the first time. Cullen closed his eyes for a long moment and swallowed. He was biting his cheek again; he could taste the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth. He willed himself to stop as he nodded. “And you accepted,” he said in a flat voice. It wasn't colored by judgement or emotion. It just was.

\----

“I did, yes,” Dorian agreed, “not... because I intended to sleep with him or anything like that. Just a nightcap. I don’t know if he had other plans, I’m... rather sure he did, come to think of it, but that wasn’t _my_ intention.”

He took another breath, “We went back to the hotel and had a drink. I remember that he kissed me at some point, but I did push him off. I... I knew _I_ was drunk, and figured he was, too, and that’s what it was. We were talking, about the old days, and had a few more and... I fell asleep, I guess. When I woke up we were in bed together. I know we didn’t have sex, and I don’t remember going to bed because I wouldn’t have agreed, but that’s where I woke up. And I told him I shouldn’t have stayed.”

\----

Cullen stared off into the park as he wrung his hands together in his lap. The feeling that he had when Dorian first told this story - to just go - was there again, and he concentrated on keeping it at bay. He’d asked for this when he agreed to come here. He’d wanted to ask his questions and get answers. It all seemed like a very bad idea now that he was faced with it, but what could he do? Avoiding hadn’t solved anything, hadn’t quieted the thoughts that raced around his head or made his heart ache any less.

“You said… you said the other day that you’d considered it… what he wanted,” Cullen replied, eyes still trained off into the distance. It wasn’t a question, but it was. Dorian had just described what happened, had told Cullen about their history… but the word _why_ still hung in the air when he thought of that night. So many whys. _Why did you go to the hotel? Why did you even agree to meet him? Why wasn’t how you say you feel about me enough to stop any of this?_

\----

“In a... stupid, idealistic way. If he wasn’t who he was and I wasn’t who I am... sure,” he answered, “he used to know me better than anyone, loved me despite all the flaws, and told me I was just what he wanted. It’s nice to hear, you... you know it is. I wanted to pretend for a moment that it was possible, even though I knew it wasn’t. He’d never let that life go just like I’d never compromise my ideals. That’s _not_ loving someone unconditionally.”

His smoothed at his mustache, fingers curling the hair up to fix where it had been mussed in all of his anxiety. “For a moment, yes... it would have been so easy,” Dorian went on, “but I wanted the _idea_ of someone who loves me for all the right reasons, and that’s not him. It’s why I said no. Him being married, me being the talked-about mistress, and all the scandal that would have come with it is fucking secondary to that. I thought he wanted to be close like we were, not... not _lovers_ , not really. It was a fantasy that would never work, and I snapped out of it.”

\----

“... and in the absence of that fantasy, there’s me,” Cullen answered, “And that’s just it, isn’t it? It… it doesn’t matter how… Rilienus feels or even how I feel. It’s not about that at all for me.” His mind searched for a way to say what he meant, but it was hard to breathe and saying the other man’s name had made his mouth go dry. Still, he had to go on, “It’s about you. What you want… how you feel. And if a night of drinking… if a night of being fed lines… if that was enough to make you forget about me… is this what _you_ want, really?” Cullen bit his lip to keep his mouth from twisting into frustrated sadness and he felt his nails biting into the tops of his hands where they lay clasped in his lap. He focused on that pain, waiting for a response.

\----

“In the absence of fantasy there _is_ you, yes,” Dorian agreed, “there’s something very real that’s good and wonderful and requires work and effort. It’s not a fairytale where everyone’s perfect and we just love each other because of circumstance. It’s because we have the ability to do _more_ than just abstractly love one another.”

He turned and looked Cullen in the face then, “I made a really bad decision, and yes... admittedly, I let myself get lost in something that you weren’t a part of. The fact remains, however, that when I woke up that morning I realized the relationship I want to be in is the one that I could possibly have with you. Not because I realized it wouldn’t work with him.” Maker, he could only hope Cullen would believe him. It had all been a hungover jumble of things that he’d had to parse through later, but it didn’t make it any less true. “You, and even all this horrible shit, are more real than anything else. I wouldn’t trade it, even if we decide we can’t work it out, for anything.”

Cullen had said not to touch him, but Dorian reached out a hand to rest over Cullen’s for a quick moment before he pulled it away, “Maker knows I’ll always love him. _He_ knows that because _I told him_ that, but it’ll always be that remembered sort of love that always looks better when you see it from a decade away. I think, and maybe you don’t anymore, that what we have is the ability to care for each other for real reasons. Serendipity and all that too, of course, but if someone were to ask me why I love you I’d be able to tell them a concrete reason that isn’t just ‘well, he knows me really well because we grew up together.’ That’s important, but the reasons I have for caring about you the way I do are... bigger. Better.”

He shrugged, “I hurt you, and I’m sorry that I did, but you’re the person that I want. Not because you’re here or convenient because this certainly isn’t that at all, but because you’re the person that makes my heart and mind go crazy.”

\----

_What do I do? What should I say?_

Cullen leaned over his knees and put his head in his hands. What Dorian said, his words made Cullen’s blood run both hot and cold at the same time.

_...you are more real than anything else..._

_...I will always love him..._

_...I love you..._

Everything was a jumbled mix of things that made his heart beat faster and things that made it fall. It seemed like a contradiction to Cullen. _I love you, but I will always love him. I love you, but I still went to his hotel room. What we have is real, but I still fell for the fantasy for a while._

He searched for the thread that would make all of this make sense, and his mind snagged on something else Dorian had said.

_...I let myself get lost…_

“... you let yourself get lost,” Cullen said softly. It was a concept he understood, so he started with that. Maybe if he just began talking, he’d find a way. “You know, when it was bad… after Ella died… that’s what it was like,” he wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, but it felt important to say. To let his mind work in words, since it wasn’t working in thought right now. “ _I let myself get lost_ , and I know it’s not the same, not really. I know that, but I did awful things. Things that hurt everyone who loved me… things that I didn’t feel or mean, but I did them because I was lost. I’m not… I’m not saying you’re the same as me. Maker, I was a thousand times worse. I’m just… I’m trying to understand,” He sat up again and met Dorian’s eyes, “I’m trying to make it _make sense_ \- how you can love someone and not want to hurt them, but you still do - and if I think about it that way, it does.”

He hoped there was even a grain of sense in that rambling mess. He couldn’t tell if Dorian was following him or not, but he pressed on.

“Because, Maker knows, I _need_ it to make sense because… regardless of all this... you’ve… you’ve changed my life for the better and you make my heart jump when you just smile at me and there’s nothing better than waking up next to you in the morning, I swear it, and I don’t,” he’d been speaking quickly, the pace increasing as he went, but now he let out a hitching breath that was half moan and half sob, “ _I don’t want it to end_.”

\----

Well, that was... it was better than Dorian had expected. Cullen was also exhausted, Dorian could read that no problem, and he would do better with a night of decent sleep before he had to make any big decisions. Still, it made Dorian feel a little better that he didn’t dismiss him outright. More than that, it helped to know that maybe he wasn’t the only one who made bad choices for stupid reasons. They just... happened. Sometimes you got lost and did things you never meant to do. It wasn’t good or right, but... Cullen knew. He understood.

“I... get that,” he agreed and moved just a little closer to the other man, “can I put an arm around you, or do you still want me not to?” It felt right to have his arms around Cullen, and seeing him so upset and not touching just felt wrong.

“Sometimes we hurt people,” Dorian went on, “but I’d never _want_ to hurt you. Not ever.”

\----

He looked at Dorian silently for a while, red-rimmed eyes considering the man for a long moment as Cullen fought to bring his heart back under control. He’d heard what Dorian had to say, and he’d decided, in his own exhausted and rambly way, that he didn’t want what they had to be over. The only question left in his mind was whether or not he could _forgive_. If he couldn’t do that, then it didn’t matter what either of them wanted, everything was doomed anyway. Running was easy. Giving up was easy. Forgiveness was hard. Forgiveness was work. Forgiveness was recognizing that the other person fucked up, accepting that they were sorry, and then refusing to hold their mistakes over them for the rest of their life.

_Can I forgive him?_

Looking into those soft grey eyes, it wasn’t even a question. He could. He would.

He had.

Cullen didn’t say a word then. He just leaned over and laid his head on Dorian’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around the man’s waist.

\----

Dorian blinked at the sudden weight and closeness that wrapped around him, but he recovered in a moment and wound his arm around Cullen’s waist as well before he turned to press a kiss into that soft hair. Maker help him, but he’d thought that perhaps he’d gone too far. He’d thought he’d hurt Cullen too much. He wouldn’t have argued, would have agreed, but hadn’t wanted to let go. Now Cullen was wrapped around him like they’d just decided to come for a walk together for fun. It was a moment of normality after a week that Dorian was sure would be replayed during his eternity in the Void, but it was so _good_.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian murmured into those curls as he buried his face in them, “so, so sorry.” He’d missed the smell of shampoo and soap that Cullen always used, but more than that... he’d missed how he somehow smelled of something inherently healthy and masculine. He could never place it, whether it was something about the guitar or the fact that Cullen was as Ferelden as they came, but he loved it. It made his blood sing in his veins.

“I love you.”

Now that he’d said it once, he found he almost couldn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	23. Confessions [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the two men have a talk and Cullen makes a confession of his own.

In the aftermath of all that… intensity, all of Cullen's muscles lost tension at once, and he just leaned into Dorian. He body sought out that warmth with a mind of its own, seeking solace and rest and just _comfort_ from the man at his side. The man who loved him. Those words washed over him and he felt… at ease. Right again. There was work left to be done, but for now, just the fact that they both wanted to do that work was enough to sustain him. That knowledge was already at work, smoothing the rough edges of raw nerves and beginning the task of knitting wounds together.

He turned his head to nuzzle into Dorian’s neck, drowsy and heavy with exhaustion, but _content_. “Apology accepted,” he breathed. “... and I love you, too.”

\----

The arm around Cullen tightened, and Dorian kissed those curls again, “You’re exhausted,” he observed quietly, “stay with me tonight. On the couch, if you want, or I can, but... you’re getting a decent bit of sleep with no arguments.”

He ran his hand along Cullen’s lower back and buried his face in that hair. Maker, he’d missed that. It had only been a week, but it felt like an eternity. “Come on,” Dorian prompted, “we’ll get a cab back to mine. A shower and some sleep will probably make you feel a little better, too.”

\----

“No, you'll get no arguments from me,” Cullen returned, smiling against warm skin. The thought of bed, an actual _bed_ , and the promise of real sleep sent a little wave of relief through him. Heavy as his body felt with exhaustion and everything else, it took him a moment to gather the energy and willpower needed to stand. As soon as he was on his feet, however, his vision dimmed and his body went loose with dizziness. Cullen collapsed back down on the bench and breathed with his eyes closed for a few moments until it passed. _Maker, I'm more tired than I thought._

Ready to try again, Cullen held out a hand to Dorian. “Dizzy,” he explained, “I think I need some help. Please.”

\----

“Come here,” Dorian chuckled as he hauled Cullen to his feet and looped one of the man’s arms around his shoulders as well as one of his own arms around Cullen’s waist, “when was the last time you ate something?”

Maker, just what had Cullen been doing? Dorian probably didn’t want to know. It would only make him feel worse. So it was going to be a shower, _something to eat_ , and bed. No matter what Cullen argued. Dorian wanted to... take care of him. He really did.

\----

That was a good question. The days and hours had run together into one gray blur, and he honestly couldn’t remember. “I’m not entirely sure,” he replied as he settled against Dorian and they made their way back to the street. The cab ride back to Dorian’s was mostly quiet, but not uncomfortable. They sat together in the back seat, hands clasped, and to Cullen it felt a little like the first time for the way his heart skipped when their fingers tangled. He must have dozed, because before he knew it, they were there.

\----

Dorian led Cullen up the stairs and inside his flat before he shrugged out of his coat, toed out of his shoes, and turned to help Cullen out of his as well, “Go have a shower,” he instructed gently before he leaned up to kiss the other man’s forehead. There was a part of him that worried Cullen might be too tired to stand upright for that long, but a shower would probably do more good than harm at this point. It would also give Dorian some time to make Cullen something to eat.

\----

Yes, a shower. That would do wonders, he knew, but first…

“In a minute,” he said as he pulled Dorian close. He wrapped one arm around Dorian’s waist and looped the other up his back so Cullen’s hand was clutching his shoulder - and just held on tight while he buried his face in the soft skin of the man’s neck. He just… he missed this so _damn much_ , the way Dorian felt, the way his scent always calmed Cullen’s mind and made his heart race, everything.

\----

Both of Dorian’s arms wound around Cullen’s shoulders, and he hugged him as tightly as he dared. Cullen’s bulk was so comforting and warm and _good_ and Dorian had missed it. It always felt like the other man enveloped him so completely, so he was completely around him, and he loved it. A hug. A real hug. A real hug for no reason other than just wanting to be close.

He’d come to need it.

“I missed you.”

\----

Cullen allowed that embrace to last, breathing deeply and slowly - just taking in the feeling of having Dorian’s body pressed against him. It felt right. It felt like that was where he should be, there with his arms around the one he loved, the rest of everything be damned. It would work. They would make it work. That expanding warmth in his chest told him so.

After a long, indulgent moment, Cullen leaned back and pressed his forehead against Dorian’s. “Maker, I missed you, too,” he murmured and raised a hand to draw a finger hesitantly along Dorian’s jawline. “It was… a hard week.” He paused, a little unsure for a moment, and then pressed a kiss to Dorian’s forehead before finally unwrapping himself from their embrace and starting towards the bathroom for that shower.

\----

He watched him go, hands on his hips, and Dorian let out a sigh when Cullen finally closed over the bathroom door. Maker help them both. One hand lifted and he rubbed at his face, smoothed his mustache, and ran through his hair. This had been a mess. One giant mess. Now, however, he needed to do something to fix it. Talk was all well and good, the ‘I love you’s' and the ‘I’ll do better!’s,' but actions were important. If he was going to make this right, make this _work_ , he needed to start doing things to prove as much.

The first act was a small one. Dorian got out some bread, cheese, and a bit of ham from the fridge and set to making Cullen something to eat. It wasn’t going to be anything pretty, not really, but he used the nicer garlic and herb butter to toast into the bread as he worked, and the cheese melted rather nicely. Hopefully, the other man would be awake enough to eat it; he needed it, and Dorian didn’t want to have to worry he was making himself sick. So he cooked, and he poured a tall glass of ginger ale into a cold cup when he heard the water in the shower turn off, and when it was done he put it on a small plate on the bench to wait for Cullen to come out.

Small gestures.

\----

Almost as soon as he was alone in the bathroom, the weight of the past week fell on Cullen's shoulders again, and he just leaned forward on his arms against the sink for a while, studying himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. Pale, a bit gaunt for his eating habits - or lack thereof - that week, with red eyes ringed purple from exhaustion. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he looked like he'd been using again. And he guessed he had, but it had been work he'd fixated on to distract him this time, and that was a far sight better than what it could have been.

_You rolled over real easy on that one, didn't you? One flash of those big sad eyes and an “I love you” later and here you are, like a fucking dog who doesn't know better than to stay away. And you practically forced him to say it, didn't you? You're bringing this on yourself, you know. It was better alone._

That voice, that Maker-damned voice was back. Of course it was, but the vitriol, the harshness of that mocking was breathtaking. He was too tired to shut it up, too sick to make it go away. He shook his head, “Stop,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “Just fucking stop.” He’d decided. He chosen to forgive and make it work. And while it was _easier_ to be alone, it wasn’t _better_. Better was trying. Better was fighting. Better was what they’d had, and knowing it could be more... if he could just get that voice to _shut up._ He hung his head and closed his eyes, just concentrating on keeping those awful thoughts from eating him alive.

_You’re always so serious, love. You think too much - it’s ok to let it go and let it be sometimes._

Amber eyes snapped open at that laughing voice, tones clear as a bell and as familiar as his own. Of course it was. It was hers, Ella, but not like he’d heard her in his nightmares since she’d gone. This was… comforting. Soothing. He’d plucked a thread from a conversation long ago, and it was like she was telling him to trust himself.

_Let it go. Let it be,_ he thought, and he felt a just a little more _there_. Enough to get into the shower, anyway, and as the water poured over him, his mind lingered over those words. His heart still hurt, despite the words they’d exchanged. He still felt raw and sore even though he’d decided to forgive. But oh, forgiveness didn’t mean everything was instantly better.

_Let it be,_ he thought again, and he allowed himself to feel everything he’d been blocking out - all the hurt that had been piling up and all the relief he’d felt when Dorian seemed so earnest about wanting to fix things - and suddenly, he couldn’t tell if the water running down his cheeks was from the shower or from the tears falling. He cried until he couldn’t any more. He cried because Dorian had hurt him, because, even after all this time, it seemed that he was always a vicious thought away from the edge, because he wasn’t who he should be. He cried because he was still happy to know Dorian would be there tomorrow. He cried because Dorian loved him. He cried because change was hard and he was so, so tired.

He cried for the simple reason that he needed a release or he’d completely lose it.

By the time he turned the water off, his head pounded, but he felt… better. Refreshed. Absolved of something somehow. He was wrung out and reduced to just _Cullen_ and ready, really ready to start working.

To forgive, he had to _let it go._ To move forward, he had to _let it be._

He dried off and got dressed before splashing cold water on his face to try and combat the redness and swelling around his eyes. He looked in the mirror again.

_Yep, still look like shit,_ he thought, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips as he turned to make his way out of the bathroom. His stomach growled at the smell of food, and that ghost of a smile became more substantial as he realized Dorian had been cooking while he was breaking down.

“ _That,”_ he started when he’d reached the counter, “smells wonderful.”

It was a little thing, but it was enough. It was care. It was care for _him._

\----

Maker, Cullen looked terrible. He looked red and tired and like... had he been _crying_? Andraste’s tits. That made his chest clench. Dorian took a breath and reached up to ruffle that soft, damp hair before he gestured to the sandwich and the drink, “it’s for you. You’re not going to bed until you’ve eaten something.”

He wanted to help. He wanted to help so much. Dorian knew he’d done a lot of damage, but to have it looking him in the face made him want to do as much as he could to make all this better. Anything. He would do anything.

One hand smoothed over Cullen’s back as Dorian pressed his hip against the bench, “it’s not much, but at at least you’ll have something in your stomach.”

\----

“No, it’s plenty,” Cullen replied as he took a seat. “Thank you.” He turned to the plate and took a bite and Maker, it was so good. He was starving, actually hungry for the first time in days, and he had to pace himself for fear that he’d inhale the sandwich too quickly and his empty stomach would reject it entirely. So, he took small bites - as small as he could - and sips of the ginger ale between and felt a little stronger with each swallow.

That crying jag and now food had cleared his mind a bit and pulled him out of that fog he’d been walking around in for the past week. He was clear enough to take in his surroundings, anyway, and what he saw worried him. Wine bottles and glasses were littered across the countertops, and Cullen felt a stab of guilt. It was clear what Dorian had been doing that week, and it looked like he’d found something to distract him just like Cullen had. Only Dorian had turned to wine rather than work.

All because Cullen refused to talk to him. Well, that wasn’t exactly fair, Dorian had a large hand in this situation - but Cullen’s childish running, his misguided attempt at protecting himself hadn't helped.

“Hey,” he started softly, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. For what it’s worth now, I am.”

\----

 “No, I... I understand,” Dorian answered, “if I were in your position, I wouldn’t want to talk, either.” He shrugged and sipped at a small glass of ginger ale that he’d poured for himself while he’d waited. Lately his stomach had felt sour and sick, so something easy to sip on seemed to help. “I was the type to lock myself in my rooms or in the bathroom for hours because I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so... I get it.”

He offered a small smile up to Cullen and shrugged, “We’ll talk now. Or, at least, we’ll talk more now. That’s the hope anyway.”

\----

“Right,” Cullen agreed as he finished his sandwich and pushed the plate back. “I just…” he sighed then and lifted his hands, palms up, “I want to, but I don’t think I can. Not tonight.”

Bed. Bed and warmth and sleep. That’s what he wanted now. The hard part, more talking, could wait until tomorrow, he hoped.

\----

“We’ll talk when you’re ready to talk, alright?” Dorian told him nodded toward the bedroom, “I can sleep on the couch if you’d rather not share a bed tonight, but you should sleep somewhere comfortable.” Cullen looked so tired, and Dorian so hoped that Garrett didn’t call him in. Maybe it would do to sneak Cullen’s phone away just in case. Should he call, Dorian would say Cullen needed a day or two to rest. Hopefully, if Garrett had seen him, he would understand.

\----

Cullen smiled then, slow and small, but there. “I am ready… I just need a bit of sleep first.” A bit was an understatement. He could feel it in his bones, how tired he was. The past week notwithstanding, it had been a rather intense few hours… enough to wear him down even if he'd started well-rested.

But to sleep alone, after all that… and not knowing what tomorrow would bring when the _making it work_ would start in earnest… no. Cullen didn't want that. After everything was said and done, he wanted to lie next to Dorian and just forget the world for a night.

He looked up at Dorian then through the wet curls that fell in his face and bit his bottom lip for just a moment, considering how to say it before he continued, “Please. Stay with me,” he said, voice cast low as he worried his hands, “I… I need that… you... tonight. Please?”

\----

Secretly, Dorian was pleased. He hadn’t wanted to sleep on the couch, but would have if Cullen had wanted him to. Dorian would have understood if he had, but... well, he was more happy to share the bed instead. “I just wanted to offer,” he told him, and wrapped an arm around Cullen’s waist before he shut off the lights and led them to the bedroom. Truth be told, Dorian wanted to crawl into bed as much as Cullen did. His head hurt, his spirit hurt, and he wanted a long and interrupted sleep with that warm body next to him.

He stripped out of his clothes and slid under the blankets. Dorian’s arms scooped up one of the pillows so he could bury his face in it, and he groaned. Yes. Yes, bed. Now that he was in it, Dorian wanted nothing more than to sleep forever.

\----

Under the blankets and firmly on his side of the bed, Cullen lay flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was strange, going to bed next to Dorian and not immediately wrapping him up or laying his head on the man’s chest to let the sound of his heartbeat lull him to sleep. He supposed it was a start, just being in the bed together after the week they’d had. He should be happy they were there… but no. No, he didn’t want awkward silence and distance between them right now. Not tonight.

Cullen rolled over onto his side and reach a hand out to rest on Dorian’s hip. It wasn’t the hopelessly tangled up way they usually started the night off, but it was a far cry better than having Dorian in the same bed and still feeling alone.

\----

That hand on his hip roused Dorian from his thoughts, all of which included how happy he was to be horizontal, and he smiled to himself before he took Cullen’s hand and curled up under his arm. He pressed his face in against that strong chest, smiled as those soft blond curls that dusted his chest tickled his nose, and Dorian draped his arm over Cullen’s waist. Maker, he’d missed that feeling of having Cullen close.

He moved his leg forward, tangled his and Cullen’s together, and sighed happily. Sleep would be better now. They’d wake up, and everything would look a lot better. Dorian knew that better than he knew anything at the moment. “Mm, I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured softly.

\----

“It’s a good place to be,” Cullen replied as he buried his face in Dorian’s hair and just breathed him in. He pressed a gentle kiss to Dorian’s forehead before a content sigh escaped his scarred lips. Sleep was descending on him quickly - he was heavy with it and happy to just drift off there with his arms circling the one he loved. The one who loved him. “Goodnight, Dorian,” he said, already half asleep.

\----

That phrase, it was so like the one Cullen had said to him when he’d walked out a week ago, made him curl up a bit tighter. Dorian nuzzled his face into Cullen’s chest, breathed him in, and tried to just... relax. Cullen wasn’t leaving. He was just sleeping. Sleeping was okay. He was sleeping there, with Dorian, and curled up around him like no one else ever did. Still, Dorian clung on that much tighter until he finally slept, too.

He woke up early, despite being tired, and found neither of them had moved in the night. Cullen’s arm still had Dorian tucked neatly against his chest, and they were tangled together so if it weren’t for Cullen’s pale skin versus Dorian’s bronze, no one would have been able to tell where one of them ended and the other began. It was nice, other than the fact that Dorian’s other arm was numb and he needed to get up.

Slowly, Dorian untangled himself and tucked the blankets back around Cullen with a quick kiss to his forehead. He hoped the other man would sleep until he got back into bed once he made some coffee and took his meds. It didn’t take long to do just that, and Dorian rested his mug on the bedside table and stretched out alongside Cullen to tunnel his fingers through soft curls while he checked his messages.

\----

As Cullen rose from the deepest sleep he'd had in a while, he could feel fingers running gently through his hair. His body ached for how soundly he'd slept, but it was a good kind of ache, and he just lay there enjoying that touch while his mind caught up. He began taking stock, letting the events of the evening before come back to him. From Samson's warning text, to that awful, hard conversation, to crying in the shower like a child, to this moment here. Warm and safe and lying next to Dorian. It was a lot to take in, so he let it come slowly. The unease was still there, he found, but there was something else he hadn't woken with even the day before.

Hope. Hope that they would, in the end, be ok.

He moved closer to Dorian then and slung an arm over him, eyes still closed. “Morning… or… afternoon?” he greeted, voice husky and deep with sleep.

\----

“Afternoon,” Dorian answered with a soft chuckle as he put his phone down and practically pulled Cullen’s head into his lap so he could rake his well-manicured nails over the other man’s scalp. He always sounded so good when he was sleepy and rough sounding, it was sexy, and Dorian smiled to himself as he gently scratched and massaged at Cullen’s scalp. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, “we’ve got nowhere to be.”

\----

“mmmm… you keep doing that, and I will…” he answered drowsily, “... feels nice…” Those fingers kept working sending waves of pleasure down Cullen’s spine, and he dozed for a while longer in that comfortable little nest of blankets and sheets and pillows and Dorian. When he finally awoke fully, he had no idea what time it was or how long he’d been pinning Dorian into that one spot, but he was glad the man was still there. He’d said it last night, hadn’t he? There was nothing better than waking up next to Dorian, and, circumstances aside, it was the truth.

One eye cracked open and took a moment just to watch Dorian as he fiddled with his phone. His hair was down and slept in, his mustache was out of sorts, and Cullen loved it. He always loved seeing the man behind the face he put on for the world. It was silly, maybe, but it always felt special, from that first time right up until this moment.

“Let me try this again,” he said as he lifted his head to look at Dorian more directly, a half smile on his lips, “Good mor… er… afternoon, I suppose.”

\----

Dorian chuckled and leaned down to kiss the top of Cullen’s head, “Good afternoon,” he replied before he settled back down against the pillows and pulled the other man up onto his chest, “sleep alright?” It looked like he had. Those amber eyes looked less red and swollen, which had to be a good thing, and Cullen looked a bit less pale and wan than he had the night before. “You didn’t even drool on me,” he teased, “I appreciate it.”

He wound both arms around Cullen’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. Dorian loved how warm and soft the other man’s skin was when he just woke up. Both hands smoothed along Cullen’s back, scratched gently before his palms smoothed back over, and he took in the curve and feel of those muscles under him. There was little better than just lounging like this. Yes, he’d have to get up for more coffee and possibly some food soon, but Dorian wasn’t about to give this up.

\----

“... I don't drool,” Cullen grumped, but he smiled as Dorian's fingers made their way down and then back up his back. Maker, it was a wonderful feeling. His back arched almost instinctively just to increase the press of that hand. After the week he'd had, _they'd_ had, he couldn’t get enough. He lifted his head and smiled as he kissed Dorian's cheek, “Slept better than I have in days. Sorry if I trapped you in here.”

\----

“It’s where I want to be,” he pointed out, “but I’ll need coffee soon. But maybe we could just stay here today?” Staying in and relaxing, the two of them together, is what he needed right now. Dorian’s body craved contact with Cullen’s for as much as he’d give. “I don’t really feel like doing much more than this.”

\----

“Same,” Cullen agreed and let his fingers trail nonsense, just loops and shapes, over the smooth skin of Dorian's torso. His mind drifted a bit as he drew his fingertips through the spaces between ribs and outlined the shapes of the muscles that lay just under all that beautiful skin.

It wasn't _over_. The healing process was just beginning, really, but what they had between them had, so far, survived. After a good night's rest that had lasted well into the day, he was more himself, more normal, than he had been last night. He'd been riding a wave of exhaustion and emotion when they'd talked, and the more he thought about it, the less sure he was whether his letting go and forgiving had been a sign of weakness or growth. But this - this warmth and closeness right here with Dorian - was decidedly _good_. That awful voice was quiet and his sleep had been undisturbed by nightmares.

Still, despite the words last night and the wonderful closeness they had right now, he knew there was a road ahead of them that wouldn't always be like this - comfortable and soft. There would be dips and rises; there were sharp rocks in their future.

But there _was_ a future, and that made all the sharpness and uncertainty worth it.

Cullen rolled closer into Dorian then and wrapped his arm around him as tightly as he could, sliding his hand between the bed and Dorian's back and shoulders to circle him more fully as he nuzzled his face into the man's neck. “What do we do now?” he breathed. He wasn’t talking about the day that stretched out before them, short as he'd made it by sleeping so long. They _could_ just move like nothing had happened, but that didn't feel right. He wasn't sure what more there was though. What _was_ there to say or do besides just moving on? “What do we need now?”

\----

Honestly, Dorian hadn’t expected Cullen to want to talk so soon after waking. He’d expected them to move in a haze together for at least a day, just touching and getting that back, before they sat down to discuss. In a way, though, he was glad. It was better to not put it off, since Dorian knew better than anyone how easy it would be to just never have that conversation and pretend. Pretending was fine, so long as there was never any hope to do _more_ than that. So he reached up to run his fingers through those curls, and he sighed a bit as he thought for a moment.

“Honesty from me,” he answered after a little while, “actual honesty and not... me leaving things out that might cause problems.” Dorian turned to kiss Cullen’s temple, “I’ve never been completely honest with anyone. Ever. I’ll... manage, though. So long as you don’t judge me too hard?”

\----

Cullen pulled back so he could face Dorian while they talked. He didn't go too far - that touch was still so important to him right now. It was confirmation; Dorian was there, he was there, and they were trying. He just wanted to see the man's eyes as they spoke.

Part of him hadn't anticipated an answer, not yet. But as he looked into those grey eyes, he could see the sincerity there. Honesty. It was… a novel concept, and one he’d struggled with himself, wasn't it?

“I'm hardly in a position to judge,” he finally began, “I… I'd appreciate that, and I'm sorry if I made you feel like you couldn't be honest with me. Maker knows, I don't always say the things I feel when it's important.” He paused, thinking, “... but maybe I should? I just… I always worry it'll be too much, or scare you away.”

\----

To be fair, Dorian wasn’t very good at talking about what he wanted. The whole talking aspect of a relationship: having expectations, boundaries, that kind of thing, was what he tended to avoid. It was often under the guise of him wanting to give as much freedom as possible so that he could have as much himself, but in reality Dorian just... he’d seen too many relationships with stipulations. He’d thought the answer to it was to just dive in and see how it went. Clearly, that wasn’t working.

“Maybe it might’ve,” Dorian commented before he rolled over a bit so he could rest his head on his arm and still look up into Cullen’s eyes, “but I think I’d rather lay it out on the table than run.” The fact that it came out of his mouth surprised him. He felt that way, but it had always been in his nature to just wave a hand and find the next warm body whenever he was too worried about it. Once things got complicated, Dorian always left.

Now he didn’t want to.

“What if we…” he paused and smoothed at his mustache a little, “what if we had some time where we just laid everything out? We can agree that we don’t have to explain until it’s over, and just get everything out, then talk about it?” Dorian searched those beautiful eyes before he leaned up to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “if you think that might help?”

\----

Well that… sounded frightening. Cullen had been forthright enough with his past, yes, but everything since then had been… just a jumbled mess of “what do I say” and “how do I tell him” and “this is my problem, not his” and “what if he leaves if he knows I feel that way?” He wasn’t proud of the way he stayed locked in his head all the time. He wasn’t proud of the way he could never seem to let things go. He definitely wasn’t proud of the way those things he held on to ate at him until it was too late.

But this? What Dorian was suggesting was a way to end that. Or at least give Cullen a way to get rid of the things he’d been holding on to. He’d thought it last night… to move on, he needed to be able to let some things go. So, frightening? Yes, absolutely. Necessary? Also yes.

Cullen eased down on the bed, lying on his side so he could face Dorian. He rested his hand on the man’s hip just to maintain contact and took a long, slow breath.

“It sounds terrifying,” Cullen admitted, “... but it’s a good idea, and probably needed.” He worked his jaw for a moment before continuing, “But dangerous, you know. I mean… it can be hard not to react. Not to get angry. We have to promise to hear each other out and mean it.”

He paused again and furrowed his brow, “But I’ve been scared this whole time, and I’m tired of it. This will… talking like that… will be worth however hard it is, I think.” 

\----

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Cullen’s lips, “I’ll promise to listen,” Dorian told him, “and we’ll try not to get upset in between, alright?” Another breath, and Dorian tucked himself in close, “Though... maybe not before coffee and you should eat something. Maker only knows when you ate before than sandwich last night, and that wasn’t that big.” That, and he needed something too.

They would talk. It would be terrifying and probably a little hurtful, but they would talk. Today. Soon. Once they ate and had coffee. “Once we’re properly fortified, I think we ought to come back to bed and... have this out,” Dorian told him, “for real.”

\----

“For real,” Cullen nodded before he leaned back in to return that kiss. Who knew what this conversation would bring? For everything they just said, this kiss could still be their last, depending on how it all went, so Cullen let it linger a moment while it warmed him straight down to his toes. He didn’t want it to be the last.

Breakfast, or at this point late lunch, was a quick affair, made more than a little tense by the nervous energy they both seemed to feel. It was hard to focus on the mundane - scrambling eggs, making toast, brewing coffee - when Cullen knew what was coming. It was almost enough to turn his appetite, and it would have if he’d been eating like a normal person in the days leading up to this. They didn’t speak much while they ate, just made little comments here and there, but Cullen made sure that the hand not holding a fork or a coffee cup was wrapped around one of Dorian’s the whole time.

Food eaten and plates set to rinse in the sink, they both refilled their mugs with coffee and Cullen turned to Dorian, a little wide-eyed and jangly with nerves. “Ready?” was all he could manage. Maker help him, now that it was upon him - their first real Big Relationship Talk - he didn’t know if he was.

\----

Dorian had spent the last few minutes, and it was only minutes, nervous and anxious. He could feel it sparking in his blood to the point that he was unable to keep still, but once Cullen prompted him he took a breath. Calm. He needed to be calm. If he was calm, then they could do this. Being nervous was...probably normal, but it was necessary. Bring too wound up to talk wouldn’t help.

“Ready,” he agreed and leaned up to press a long, slow kiss to Cullen’s cheek. Dorian took the hand not occupied with the mug of coffee, and he squeezed it, “you look like I’m about to take you to a firing squad,” he observed with a small smile, “it’ll be alright, hm?”

\----

The squeeze to his hand and the look in Dorian's eyes, like he was scared, too, but determined, was more bolstering than Cullen could have thought. His heart still pounded, his mind still raced with _what if_ and _can I do this_ , but the simple knowledge that he wasn't alone… helped. Strange really, that he was taking comfort in someone he was about to be so honest with, to the point where he knew it would hurt both of them, but he'd been there before. It was another time and he was another, better man then, but he'd always lived in his head. Ella had to draw him out on more than one occasion - _Let it go. Let it be. -_ but back then, there was no destructive undercurrent of fear and disgust with himself. His head hadn't been such an uneasy place to be, like it was now, and even the most uncomfortable conversations hadn't had this level of fright attached to them.

“Firing squad, no,” Cullen sighed, “More like some sort of… inquisition. But it's for the best.”

And it was, he thought as he followed Dorian back to the bedroom. It was for the best that they get all this… poison out. Even if they decided they couldn't work past whatever they uncovered, even if love wasn't enough - and, oh, that thought hurt and brought with it a fresh wave of panic - at least it would be settled. At the end of it, they could heal or they could move on with a clear conscience.

That was his hope, anyway, as they settled back on the bed, cross legged and facing one another with their coffee within easy reach on the closest nightstand. Cullen stretched out a hand out to take one of Dorian's and met that grey-eyed gaze hesitantly. “Whatever happens, however this talk ends… I just want you to know I love you. I do, but I'm… messed up. Still.” He let out a long exhale and continued, “… And there are some things, up here,” he explained and tapped his temple with the forefinger of his free hand before letting it fall into his lap, “that are _all me_. My problems and not yours. Or rather, and it's important that you know this, they aren't _because_ of you. But I'll tell you because we're here and it's tied to how I feel about what happened… and it's the right thing, I think.” He offered a thin smile that was more sad than anything happy, “I just… I thought you should know that. Before we start.”

\----

“Hey,” Dorian prompted, and gave Cullen a look, “I... know.” He squeezed the hand that held his own. Having things that no one else could really _do anything_ about was something Dorian knew well. “I’ve got some of that too,” he agreed, and squeezed Cullen’s hand again, “not the same things, but... things, and they aren’t because of you or have anything to do with you either. It’s just how it is.”

His stomach was in knots. Terrible knots. That said, Dorian knew this would be for the better. Let them actually _get angry_ or hurt or whatever. It was better than holding it in. He knew that. It might hurt in the moment, but it was better than holding onto it.

Dorian leaned in and kissed Cullen’s lips just gently, “We’re allowed to get angry at each other,” he told him, “and frustrated. That’s not going to end this, alright? I’m not going to let that happen.”

With a soft sigh Dorian pile the pillows up a bit and leaned against them, though he was still holding Cullen’s hand. He wouldn’t let that go. But now they needed to actually do this. Maybe... maybe Dorian needed to be the one to initiate since he always seemed to be the one doing the explaining after Cullen found him out. “So... I’ve told you mostly about my family, the therapy, Rilienus,” he began and ticked off on his fingers as he went, “that’s about the extent of my tragic suffering and backstory. But, you know, obviously it’s kind of screwed me up relationship-wise. My parents hated each other, and mine and Rilienus’ relationship had a lot of conditions on it. It’s kind of led to me to just assume the best thing to do was let us do our own thing and that was better than talking. You know, have a lot of freedom and that would keep any problems sort of at bay.”

\----

Cullen nodded. He wasn't sure what the rules were for this conversation, if he should respond now or not, but Dorian had paused, and Cullen didn't care to let silence grow between them. “That… makes sense, considering… well, what happened that night… at your work party. Not to go back that far, but that's what happened, right?” He sighed. That was supposed to be water under the bridge by now, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't still hound him. Still, they'd decided to be in a relationship. That much, at least, had been concrete after that whole mess. Yet here they were. “You said freedom. Do I make you feel trapped? Is that it?”

\----

“No, not at all,” Dorian answered with a shake of his head, “more like... I saw how so many rules and expectations can ruin something, and I thought if I did the opposite, it would be better. Like how I assumed you were seeing people until we made it something official. But you don’t make me feel trapped.” He offered a small smile then, “If you want the truth, I was worried I _would_ feel trapped, and I really don’t. Just happy.”

\----

Nice words, they were, and part of Cullen felt happy to hear them… but another part was just confused. If Dorian had said he felt trapped, then what happened would have at least made sense. It would have _hurt_ … well, more than it already did, but it would have made sense to hear something like, _well, I felt like the walls were closing in so I did something dumb._ But he was saying he was _happy_. Cullen remembered thinking it made sense last night when Dorian had said he’d lost himself, but that was the _how_. The concept of losing yourself Cullen understood better than most. What he wanted to know now was just… “Why, then? If… if you were happy… why? Maker, I don’t want to make this a rehash of last night, but… I don’t understand.”

\----

He sighed. The last thing Dorian wanted was to have this conversation again. _Don’t get angry. Just... explain. As best you can_. “I wanted closure for what happened between Rilienus and me, that’s why I met him,” Dorian told him, “once I was drunk and he asked me back to the hotel... honestly, I couldn’t tell you. We were talking like friends, and I didn’t want to leave it. Rilienus _knows_ me. We could talk about more than just... work and that kind of thing. I promise you it wasn’t some design to forget about you, and I only thought he was being friendly and charming like he always is. I was drunk. With someone I thought was a friend, someone I was really close to for a long time, and that’s what it was. He used to be my lover, I know, but that wasn’t _why_ I went with him, alright?”

\----

There was a tense moment as Cullen clenched his jaw and processed. Could there really be no reason other than _it just happened_? Fuck, this was closing in again. It had somehow made sense last night… but last night, he was overloaded and overwhelmed. He closed his eyes and took a breath to calm himself. At some point, he’d have to decide if _it just happened_ was something he could live with. Making Dorian repeat himself again and again wasn’t productive, regardless of how much he didn’t like the answer.

He willed himself to relax before he replied, “Alright.” A beat of silence passed before Cullen’s brows knit together again, “Well, no, it’s not alright. Not yet.” His tone was bitter, but he wasn’t mad at Dorian. Not really. “Not until I’ve gone over it at least 500 times in my head. Not until I convince myself it’s my fault for being the way I am. Not until I wear myself down worrying that you’d leave if he changes his mind because how can I even compare?” Cullen ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Do you see? I get lost up here and let these thoughts run out of control and they just… they break me after a while. I’m not… I’m not good at letting things go.”

\----

How exhausting. Dorian squeezed his hand and ran his thumb over the other man’s fingers in the hope it would help him. Even if it was just a little. He could hardly imagine being that stuck in his own head. He had been for a time, after he’d gotten back to Halward and Aquinea’s house, and it had been the worst time he could remember. When he’d been in that place, he’d been trapped in his own head, partly from the cocktail of whatever it was they gave him to keep him pliant, but also because he refused to talk. It was... well, the Void probably felt just like that. Like he was screaming in his own head.

“Listen to me,” Dorian prompted him after a moment before he sat up to look straight into those amber eyes, “you are the person I care about. You’re the person I love, and I might not tell the whole story or be flippant and distant about some things, but never about that. And if there was a problem between us that was big enough to make me consider ending it, then I would tell you. I promise you that. It’s hard to stop going over it and over it, but... you know, I’m hoping once we have this talk you’ll be willing to trust me. Even a little. Trust me that I want to be with _you_.”

\----

Cullen was quiet for a moment, and the temptation to do the very thing he was so disappointed in himself over was strong - to just turn Dorian’s words over and over and look at them from every angle to find the cracks. _No. Stop._

“Most of me does, but there's this part of me that's just… _mean._ I can't think of a better word for it. Mean and berating and desperate. I told you before… it's a coping mechanism. Block people out, and there can't be pain, you know? And that part… it took over that day. It shut _everything_ down, and all I could think about was leaving. Getting away. Just… run away from the hurt so… so it wouldn't break me.” Cullen's eyes were trained on the sight of their hands, still holding on. He tightened his grip and took a shaky breath. “I didn't used to _be_ this way. I used to be better, I swear it. I'm sorry I'm not better.”

\----

“You don’t go through what you’ve been through and not change,” Dorian told him, “and you don’t need to be ‘better’ for me.” He sat up, leaned in, and pulled Cullen in close to rest against his chest, “I think we both shut down to keep the hurt out. I yelled, you ran, and neither of us were happy. So... we work on it, hm? It’ll be frustrating, probably, but that’s the only thing we can do. Together. As much as it sucks.”

\----

It felt nice to be pulled in and wrapped up in that warmth, and Cullen sighed against Dorian’s chest, turning his words over in his mind. Change. Dorian was right, Cullen knew. How do you go through something like that and stay the same person? But he wanted to be the same person. He wanted to be rid of the doubt and guilt and everything else that had controlled him for so long. Maybe… maybe if they kept doing this… talking and being open… he could get there. Like Dorian said, together maybe _they_ could get there.

“Together, then,” he murmured against Dorian’s skin. That felt good. It felt right. He wasn’t alone in this, not any more. And now that he knew that, he felt some of that awful, painful fog lifting. He was content to just lay there and listen to the sound of Dorian’s heart beating, now that he’d let some of his demons out, but this conversation… it wasn’t supposed to be just about him, was it? “... I feel like I’ve made this all about me and my problems. I didn’t mean to. Was… was there anything you wanted to say or ask?” He let a tiny chuckle escape his lips, “Now’s your chance.”

\----

Dorian smiled a little and ruffled those curls. He loved the feeling of how they tangled in his fingers. “Just give me a second,” he murmured as he crushed Cullen in closer. For the moment he just wanted to feel how warm and close Cullen was to him. That helped ease the shaking in his stomach.

Eventually, he did have to speak. He needed to let out some of his concerns. He had to. “Just... when you were so upset about Frederic, at the party,” Dorian began, “all that talk of me sleeping with someone else when we were but weren’t together officially. I know we talked about the whole intimacy thing, and I’m coming around to that, but I’m worried what might happen should it come up that I’ve been with other people. The reason I didn’t mention Rilienus and I were exes was because of that. I knew if I told you ‘an ex of mine contacted me and wants to meet up’ you would have been beside yourself. Or am I just being overly self-centered?”

\----

Cullen sighed. He suddenly felt very… weary. How could he explain himself without sounding like the picture of jealousy? It wasn't jealousy, really. It was more… a feeling of inadequacy on his part. More of his own insecurity rearing its ugly head. But maybe that was also a form of jealousy, he didn't know. At the very least, he could recognize that it was problematic.

“You're… not,” he started hesitantly, “With Frederic… that was less about your past with him and more about us having… different ideas of what we were. I'd… well, I guess I'd made it more than it was in my head… without telling you. Surprise.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips then. “But with… Rilienus,” and Maker, did he hate saying that name right now, “If you'd given me the context… I don't know. If you'd told me _he was the only one who wanted me, the only one who loved me_? No, I wouldn't have suggested closure. I wouldn't have suggested anything at all,” he took a breath then to calm his heart, “Maker, more than what happened… that's what hurt the most. To hear you say that. I thought _what was any of this for if that's what he thinks_? And then I left. I just left.” He felt himself starting to shake, he couldn't help it. This talking… it was meant to help, but right now, it felt awful. “So, to answer your question… I probably would have been upset, you're right. It would have come from a place of feeling… inadequate rather than what you might be thinking. But that's just as bad, isn't it?”

\----

“No, no it’s not,” he answered with a shake of his head, “I don’t want you to feel inadequate.” Dorian leaned over and kissed Cullen’s cheek, “but up until that point, I thought he was the only one who loved me. We hadn’t... talked. And, if I’m honest, I didn’t really think someone like you would ever love someone like me. I knew you cared, but I didn’t want to hope, because I’ve got a bad habit of fucking everything up royally, and if I _said_ it, or thought it might be true, it would be like... jinxing it.”

\----

_Someone like Dorian?_

“What do you mean ‘someone like you’?” Cullen asked as soon as Dorian stopped speaking.

\----

He shrugged, “You’ve seen how it is when I’m... not well,” and squeezed Cullen’s hand, “and where that came from. Why would someone like you, someone as good as you, want someone like that?”                                      

\----

At hearing those words, at that dismissive shrug, Cullen pulled away and stared into those beautiful grey eyes for a long while, trying to read the meaning behind what he'd just heard. “Why?” he asked softly as he raised a hand to stroke Dorian’s cheek before cupping his face, “Why wouldn't I? Maker,” he breathed, “You don't even know… you don't know how special you are, do you?” Cullen could feel his lips trembling as he searched for the words that could convey what he felt, “What you mean to me… what you've done for me. You… you showed me kindness no one else has. You let me in. You made me stronger. Even with all this, I still can't… there's no way I can thank you for even that first night. Please… I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

\----

That made Dorian blush, actually blush, and he pressed his cheek against Cullen’s hands. No one had ever said anything like that to him. Rilienus had always loved him, loved the fire in him, but Dorian’s existence had never been anything that made him feel _better_. Dorian had tried to make Rilienus better, wanted him to be better, but it hadn’t worked. But for Cullen to say those things made his stomach do flips. “Maybe I ought to work on that, hm?” he asked with a small smile before he kissed Cullen’s palm.

\----

Cullen sat back on the bed with slightly narrowed, considering eyes. He wasn't sure if Dorian understood the depth of the feeling behind what he said, but what else could he do right now? Presuming things worked out and they stayed together, and it was more than hopeful that they would, Dorian would eventually learn how much he really meant to Cullen. He would find a way to show him, because it was _wrong_ for someone as bright and warm as Dorian to feel… lesser somehow.

His face softened, and he leaned forward again for a light kiss. “Yes,” he agreed, “Work on that. I'll help, even.” He smiled as he pulled away. He'd help because he was going to still be there to help, he was sure.

\----

“No one’s ever told me I make them better,” he mused softly, then smiled a little shyly up at Cullen, “not... seriously, anyway. I’m well aware I brighten the world around me, but...” Dorian shrugged again and moved so he could rest his head in Cullen’s lap. Cullen made _him_ feel like a better person: he was calmer, happier, more open. To think he could do that for someone, else, though? Really. Beyond his confident persona. It was... he’d never expected that.

He took another breath, “was there anything else you wanted to ask me? Or talk to me about? Or is this a good place to start.”

\----

Maybe he did understand… a little. Cullen smiled back at Dorian and let his fingers trail through dark waves.

Was there anything else, though?

“No, this is good,” he breathed, content, before a thought flickered through his mind. It was an image, the picture of a small packet that lay hidden in his shaving bag under the sink. He’d had it for months, and in all that time hadn’t been able to just… get rid of it. Cullen had managed to avoid it during this last week by throwing himself into his work, but he knew he had been quickly reaching the end of that rope, reaching the point where he was going to need _something_ else.

_I can’t tell him about that._

_You’re supposed to be laying it all out there now. Hold back, and you’re already going down the wrong path._

_I know, but…_

_It’s not fair to him. He should know what… what could happen._

“Wait…” Cullen began, and there was a real fear in his voice now. “No, there’s more."

\----

Grey eyes lifted to meet amber ones again. Dorian worried about the tone of Cullen’s voice.That fear was real. It wasn’t just shyness, not really, but... fear. Real fear. “What is it?” Dorian asked and sat up a little. Maker, what more horrible aspect to his personality could make Cullen _scared_?

\----

His heart raced as he thought about how to proceed, how to tell Dorian just how close to the edge Cullen had come so many times since they started seeing each other. When he was alone, when his thoughts ran away with him, it was a near-constant battle. He was lucky Garrett gave him work all last week, really.

_Very lucky._

“It’s… it’s… you know I’ve got this… this thing. This… fucking... _addiction_ ,” Cullen spat the word out, finally. Of everything he’d said about himself today - the self-doubt, the way he got tangled in his own head, even the way he’d hurt from the things that happened last week - this was the most difficult. This was admitting true weakness. Dependency. He’d been a slave to it before, and he was working to keep those shackles off, but his resolve was wearing thin. He could feel it weaken each time something set him off down the path of self loathing. He should be _over_ this by now, shouldn't he? At this point, he should be able to tick the checkbox in his mind beside the words “get sober,” but he couldn't - the temptation seemed to be just around every corner - and he was so, so disappointed with himself. He felt like a failure. He was a failure.

“We haven’t talked about it since that night I got arrested… and I’ve been clean for well over a year now. Which _sounds_ great. On paper. It does,” he took a hitching breath, trying to steady himself but mostly failing, “But you should know that I… Dorian, it’s been _so_ _hard_ to stay that way. I’ve almost… Maker, I’ve almost fallen so many times over the past year. And for shitty, stupid little reasons. _I’m lonely._ Or _today was really stressful._ Or _hey, it’s raining and a little cold and gray_ ,” His voice was mocking and bitter. He was angry and guilty and burning with _shame_ , deeply, and made no efforts to conceal that emotion. "I worked myself into exhaustion last week just to _not._ But it was close. So close. And that's _not_ your fault, I'm not saying that,” he paused for a moment to let those words sink in. He wasn't blaming Dorian, not for this. This was on him, entirely.

When he started again, his voice was strained and high with the edge of nerves and panic, quivering with the promise of frustrated tears, “I _try_ to hide it from you, because it’s just so fucking _weak_ , but I’m sick. I’m sick, and you should know that. In case it… changes your mind. About me or any of this. I wouldn't blame you.”

\----

Dorian did his best to keep his face neutral. It was a lot to take in. Suddenly he realized what Cullen must have gone through when Dorian laid out everything with his family and the therapy and everything. It was a lot. Not... too much, but a lot. He’d had friends that flirted with recreational drug use. They’d get blinded, they’d have to be taken care of, and he was sure that they’d ended up in real rehabs since. This was... altogether different.

He squeezed Cullen’s hand and leaned up to nuzzle into his neck. While he listened, Dorian rubbed his thumb along Cullen’s fingers. He couldn’t imagine it. Granted, Dorian did have a certain affection for wine. Especially lately. That was different. That wasn’t... not really anyway, a _hunger_ or a need.

“A year isn’t anything to sneer at,” Dorian commented after a little while, “and, from what I hear, it’s not something that just goes away.” He sat up a little, grey eyes lifting to meet amber ones, “and you’re not weak. If you’ve gone this long and didn’t slip up, that’s stronger than you think.” Words were good and all, Dorian knew that, but... they weren’t the only things necessary. They needed action. “You don’t have to hide it from me,” he went on, “I might not be the best at it, but I’ll try to help when I can. If I can.”

\----

_Not alone. I don't have to do this alone._ Cullen's heart was singing through all the shit, all the _bad_ he felt coursing through him. But the thought that Dorian didn’t know what he was agreeing to, what he said he’d help with surfaced, and that song quieted. Dorian had never seen Cullen at his worst, after all, and if Cullen broke, Dorian was sure to suffer somehow. He thought of his family then, Mia’s sad, angry eyes when Cullen had pushed her too far, his parents’ crushed faces, full of disappointment when he’d slid in the past. Could he stand making Dorian feel that way? If he fell, could he live with himself for putting him through that?

He shook his head as he closed his eyes and brought his eyebrows together with a frown. He was doing it again, spiraling down into his own thoughts and painting himself into a corner. If he followed through with that logic, he’d be alone for the rest of his life, and he didn’t want to be alone. Desperately. It was time to let it go.

“I don’t know… how strong I am. Or good, like you said before,” he started slowly, opening his eyes and letting his face go softer, “... but you mean it? This doesn’t… it doesn’t make you want to leave?”

\----

“Why would it?” he asked, “It’s... part of you.” Dorian leaned in and kissed Cullen’s cheek. That scruffy cheek was warm, and it made him smile as he pressed his lips against it. “I’m not saying I know how to handle anything like it,” Dorian went on, “but I’d like to help if I can. Even if it’s just moral support.”

Moral support was never something Dorian was good at. Talking and being there was difficult. It required strengths Dorian never really considered something he had. This, though? Seeing Cullen so upset and scared, it was something he wanted to help. He could do whatever he could. He _would_. He’d try. That’s all he could do.

“I’ll do what I can, hm?” Dorian offered, “it might not be the right thing all the time, but I’ll try.”

\----

Amber eyes widened at that. Maker, that's what he'd needed to hear. Not an empty promise that Cullen would be fine, that _they'd_ be fine, but an admission that these were new, rough waters that Dorian might not know how to navigate, but he'd try. Somehow, knowing that Dorian wanted to help, that he was sure of that despite the fact that he really wasn't sure _how_ was more comforting than any of the hand-patting or mindless platitudes he'd received over the years.

Cullen felt his mouth twisting and his eyes pricked with tears for all the gratitude he felt at that simple gesture. _I'll do what I can._ He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw to let that feeling work its way through him. When his eyes opened again, his mouth formed into the lightest of smiles. If he picked at it, he was still hurting from everything. He knew he'd be sore from it until time and care healed the wounds that had been opened, both by Dorian's actions and his own confession today, but for now… his heart felt lighter than it had in a great, long while. He _wasn't_ alone.

“Thank you. Maker knows… I could use the help,” He met Dorian's eyes then and he let that smile grow a bit more. “There you go again. Being what I need just by being you.” He took a deep, calming breath before pulling Dorian's hand gently toward him. “Come here, you. I… I need you in my arms right now.”

\----

He let out a chuckle as Cullen pulled him in and Dorian buried his face in against the other man’s neck. It was a lot to offer up. Being someone’s backup was something he’d never really offered anyone. Felix, yes, because the man was sick and sometimes needed someone who wasn’t just another son or daughter of family friends. Sera, sometimes, when she was in a snit about her family or if she and Dagna were having troubles. No one else, though. Not really. This was different. It wasn’t ‘sort of’ or ‘in a way’. It was real. Really real.

“So... no arguments?” he asked against Cullen’s neck, “no want to fight about anything we said?” He’d half expected there to be at least one. Maybe not, though. “You just... you know, you have to promise me that if things get bad that you’ll _tell_  me. Doing that thing you do with the overthinking and making yourself insane’s fucking _dangerous_ about this kind of thing. Even if it’s just a ‘bad day’ text or something, so I know.”

\----

Cullen closed his eyes as Dorian tucked in close and he smiled against that soft, dark hair as he let his hands move gently over Dorian's back. He wanted to take in all of the man, so he took a moment just to breathe, to take in the scent of shampoo and whatever else Dorian worked into his hair, and it warmed him. It was soothing, like the calm after a storm, and it took him a while to want to break that moment by speaking.

“Do I want to fight?” he let out a soft laugh, “No, I'm not much of a fighter, never was. Heated discussions, yes. Yelling? Not as much.” Besides, after all that, in the face of what they'd said and his own terrifying admission at the end, he was drained and heavy… but in a good way. It was a tiredness brought on by work, good work, satisfying work. It wasn't the defeated exhaustion caused by pointlessly spinning wheels he'd felt last night. This was… calm. This felt more like peace.

Eyes still closed and voice cast low, he continued, “Fighting… I can't see that that would help anything now. I can't promise it won't still hurt if I think too hard. Time… time and trying are all that can help that.” Cullen’s hands stopped their slow caresses then as he wrapped his arms around Dorian to just hold him. “... but I do promise to try. To tell you what's in my head or if things are bad. And you have to promise to do the same. I want to be here for you, too. However I can. Ok?”

\----

Dorian curled into the strong chest. He loved how solid Cullen felt wrapped up with him like that. It was... better than most anything in the world. “I’ll try too,” he promised, “tell you everything. Actually everything.” It would be hard. Very hard. More. More than Dorian had ever done or felt with anyone else.

“No fighting,” he agreed softly before he started mouthing kisses at Cullen’s neck and down to his shoulder. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to argue. He didn’t want to ignore each other. Dorian just wanted this. Maybe this was how something good and _normal_ was: where they tried and hopefully it would work out. He wanted warm skin under his hands and under his lips and he wanted to kiss every inch of the other man until he knew just how much Dorian cared.

How much Dorian loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	24. Backslide [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen gets a package from the past and Dorian cooks a little comfort food.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since that night of pain and exhaustion and what should have been anger but was really just sad resignation. It had been three weeks since the morning that followed – the morning of slow waking and difficult questions and harder answers. Cullen had hurt. Maker, he’d hurt worse than he had in a very, very long time… but he’d survived it. He’d survived and he’d forgiven.

It was, however, difficult to forget. Despite his mantra of _let it go, let it be_ , Cullen found it nearly impossible to forget how it had felt that day as he sat mute in Dorian’s living room, listening to the biting fury rolling off of the man while he recounted what he’d done. Given time, maybe he could, but that wound was still fresh and bleeding. It was tender, and Cullen picked at it whenever he let himself think about it. Yes, they’d come to terms. They’d talked – laying it all out there and promising to talk more so nothing like what had happened would happen again. But this inability to forget and move on, this was Cullen’s problem. It was his own failure, and something he needed to work through alone. Really, what could Dorian do about it, even if Cullen told him? Dorian had explained himself already, and Cullen had accepted that explanation. Any more, and it would be beating a dead horse.

_Nothing for it except time_ , Cullen thought, _and love. Surely, those things will help it heal._

Because, regardless of the lingering hurt Cullen carried around, things had been… well, they’d been shaky, but still _good_ in their own way. That awful day, the lonely and tiresome week that followed, the night and the morning after that… they’d all been painful, confusing, or both, but what had come after all that talking was affirmation and, somehow, love. It was floundering and fragile, but it was there. Cullen felt it in every smile, every embrace, every touch, every kiss… and there had been many since the morning they decided to work to keep what they had. There wasn’t a time they were together when they weren’t somehow touching, even if it was just hooking a foot around the other man’s during dinner. They curled closer in bed together. They made love more intensely. They kissed more often. They held each other tighter. They whispered those words to one another in the dark. _I love you._

So what if Cullen hadn’t forgotten the pain? That was fine. It was normal, right? It had only been three weeks, after all. Plus, he had Dorian’s love, and that was worth the second guessing and backbiting he put himself through. Other than that, things had never been better, truly. Really. He’d get over it. Eventually. Time and love. Love and time. That’s all he needed. He’d heal. He’d heal and be stronger for it. More like who he was supposed to be.

All these thoughts swirled around Cullen’s mind when he let it run loose, only fading into the background when he focused on work or Dorian. Or, as it seemed now, when he got an unexpected package in the mail. He’d stopped by Samson’s before work just to grab the sheet music he needed that day, but was greeted by a large but thin package addressed to him on the shoddy kitchen table. Curious, he picked it up... but dropped it again immediately, eyes wide.

Mia. It was from his sister. It was a package from his sister, and suddenly, every terrible thing he’d ever said to her when he was high came back to him all at once. He wanted to curl up into a ball with shame. He wanted to throw the package away without looking. He wanted to rip it open immediately to see what it was. He wanted to avoid her entirely. He wanted to call her right now and apologize.

What he did do was tuck the package under his arm with the sheet music he’d gone to pick up in the first place and took it with him to work, unopened. He was afraid. He was still afraid. He couldn't bring himself to open it alone.

Maybe… maybe if he opened it while Dorian was around, he’d be less afraid. That sounded good. That sounded like a plan, so he sent Dorian a text - _ok to come over tonight?_ \- and went off to work as if everything were normal. As if everything were just… fine.

\----

_[Send Message: Cullen (10:45AM)]: Always. Looking forward to it <3_

Three weeks of things hanging on, sometimes by a thread and sometimes easily with a hand to hold, and Dorian was feeling... mostly okay. Sometimes he saw sadness or frustration on Cullen’s features, something he couldn’t touch or make better, and that bothered him. They were supposed to be moving past that, but it seemed like there was something he couldn’t do. There was some part of Cullen he couldn’t get to, and that... hurt him. Still, he was trying his best. He believed that Cullen would come around, eventually, and he’d be able to help.

He’d tried his best. He talked, was more intimate with his words and touches and everything else, and Dorian actually found it enjoyable. There had been a moment where he’d started to wonder if saying those words would really change everything... and they did, sort of. Not necessarily in a bad way. There was still that worry that there were caveats to this love situation. Dorian wanted to think that they could love each other without them, but he’d never experienced anything but love with strings attached. He had to wonder if there were going to be some now, and what they were. If those sad and frustrated glances weren’t it.

If Cullen trusted him.

He was trying, though. He really was.

A quick glance to the clock told him his next appointment wasn’t for a bit, so he tapped on Cullen’s name and pressed the phone to his ear. Even just a moment to maybe hear his voice, probably on the way to work, and Dorian hoped he could soothe something. A minute a day taken out to do something, even something small like call and say hello, was what Dorian’s promise included. He’d sworn he do something good. Or, at least, he’d try.

So he waited for Cullen to answer.

\----

The heart at the end of Dorian's text had made Cullen smile, in spite of the package and the fear of its contents that he carried with him. It warmed him a bit, which was bolstering. So, exactly what he needed right now, even if it was small. It was the small things he loved, anyway.

He'd just put his phone in his back pocket where it usually sat when it started to ring. Puzzled, he pulled it back out, wondering who would be calling, and hoping it wasn't Garrett telling him he didn't have to come in. He needed to work today to keep his mind off of… whatever it was that Mia had sent him. The grin returned, however, when he saw that it was Dorian… and he chuckled at the picture that came up when he called - it was the same selfie Dorian had snapped so long ago at that coffee shop before any of this started. In any case, it made him smile and forget, momentarily, what had had him so shaken a few moments before.

“Hey you, what’s up?” he answered lightly.

\----

“I have ten minutes and wanted to say hello,” Dorian replied and leaned back in his chair, “are you headed to work?” A smile had worked itself across his lips. Something about hearing Cullen’s voice warmed him and he found he couldn’t stop smiling.

\----

“That I am. You caught me on the way to the train,” Cullen responded, still smiling as he made his way toward the train station. It was… nice that Dorian was taking time out of his break to call and talk - actually talk and not just text. Just to say hello, no other reason. He’d taken to doing that more often these days, and Cullen appreciated the effort more than he could say. He also just loved hearing the man’s voice - texts were a poor substitute, Cullen had found. “Glad you called, though. How’s your day been?”

\----

“Meeting after meeting, but it could be worse,” he answered, “did you manage to get out of Samson’s without a lecture?” It seemed the man didn’t approve of them getting back together and liked to tell Cullen at every opportunity. Dorian had elected to just roll with the fact that Samson would never like him, which was fine considering he wasn’t so sure he’d ever get along with someone like that anyway.

\----

“Oh, you know. He was mostly out of it. A bit early for him, even if it is pushing 11:00,” Cullen laughed. In fact, Cullen had been trying to avoid him. It didn’t feel good to have _Samson_ of all people looking down his hooked nose at him. He’d told Cullen exactly what he thought, most of it amounting to Cullen being a fool - a weak fool. It had gotten ugly after that, so Cullen did his best to just completely skirt him for the time being. “But forget him… I’m looking forward to seeing _you_ tonight, though. I shouldn’t be too late. 7:00, maybe 8:00 ok?”

\----

Dorian smiled, “Sounds good. I’ll handle dinner tonight, hm?” he offered, “you just come over and we’ll watch some horrible television. We won’t worry about him or any of that.”

\----

“Does that mean what I think it means? Because if you start cooking, I’m just gonna have to throw in the towel. What use am I then?” Cullen teased. By then, he was at the station, just leaning against the wall outside and smoking - knowing he was missing the last train before he was late and not caring.

\----

“You’re still better than me in the kitchen,” Dorian laughed, “I just want to do something good. Even if it’s just stir fry. I hope that’s acceptable?”

\----

“Absolutely. More than acceptable,” Cullen replied, “Haven't you heard… the way to a man's heart and all that?”

\----

A pause and Dorian grinned, “That usually comes after dinner, doesn’t it?” he teased before he laughed, “but yes, stomach first.” Just then, his office phone buzzed. Apparently his ten minutes was cut short. “Ah, I have to go,” he told Cullen, “by seven or eight? I’ll send you something when I’m on lunch.”

\----

“Hey, Dorian, wait…” Cullen started, the package he held in under his arm weighing on his mind now that Dorian was ending the conversation. When he heard the man pause, Cullen sighed and continued, “No, nevermind. It can wait. You go get your work done. See you tonight.”

\----

“Are you okay?” Dorian asked, then frowned as the office phone buzzed again, “right, um, tonight. Have a good day and, Cullen... I love you, okay? Looking forward to tonight.”

\----

“Hey,” Cullen answered softly, “I love you, too. And I’m fine. Really, it can wait until later.” Cullen chuckled, “... and get ready, I plan to show up hungry.” He couldn’t help the smile - he’d let Dorian translate that one however he wished.

\----

Didn’t Dorian know that. He laughed as he said goodbye and hung up. Maker only knew that it was going to be a long few hours until it was time to go home and make this happen.

Once he did get home, Dorian set to getting going on the food. It was a simple stir fry, full of veggies and lots of lamb, and when it was done the whole apartment smelled like Tevinter. He’d nibbled at all of it, especially the coconut rice, and settled on the couch with everything warming on the stove. A glass of wine completed the picture, and Dorian put his feet up on the coffee table to wait for Cullen to get home.

\----

It was a short shift, but it still seemed to take an age. The package Cullen’s sister sent stayed in the front of his mind the whole afternoon. The last time he’d seen Mia, she was crying and angry and kicking him out of her home. He’d stumbled in one evening wasted out of his mind and raving about Maker only knew what. He really didn’t remember everything that happened, only that Gwen, who had been just a little thing back then, had been terrified of him. She’d been inconsolable, actually afraid that her uncle had turned into a monster. That had been the last in a long line of fuck ups where Mia was concerned. She could stomach a lot of shit, but she wouldn’t abide anyone making her kids feel unsafe. Even Cullen. So, she’d waited until the kids were in bed and let him have it. He said things back, he couldn’t remember what, and she’d made him leave that very night.

That was… many years ago at this point, and he still hadn’t reached out to her, or anyone in his family, really. He knew that he was doing better than he ever had, that much was obvious. But he was still wrong, and he didn’t want to face them until he was right again. So, he’d stayed silent, and they’d never been very successful in finding him.

Until now.

There was no telling what was in that package. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready for it, that much was certain. So, he worked out the clock, constantly chewing his cheek as he played, and rushed out of the studio just as soon as Garrett told them to wrap at a little after 7:00. He didn’t want to be alone with that package and the thoughts it kicked up. He didn’t want to be alone when he finally decided to open it. He didn’t want to be alone when he saw what was inside.

So, when he was ready, he’d tell Dorian and then open the damn thing - with someone there to support him. That was his plan, and it seemed like a good one. Assuming he ever felt ready, of course.

The sun had gone down by the time he made it to Dorian’s, but it was still before 8:00, so he called that a success. He kicked off his shoes at the door, leaned his guitar against the wall, and set his stuff down on the counter on his way to kiss Dorian hello. “I don’t think it’s ever smelled quite this good in here,” Cullen teased as he sank into the couch next to Dorian. “Is it finished? Do I have time for a hug before dinner?”

\----

That made him laugh and Dorian leaned over until he fell against Cullen’s shoulder, “There’s always time for that,” he replied and moved in so he was leaned up against the other man, “and it’s all done so we can eat whenever you want.” A smile touched his face and he leaned up to nose in at Cullen’s neck, “Hello, by the way.”

\----

As nice as it was to have that warmth pressed along his side, Cullen, of course, wanted more. “Come here,” he said as he turned on the couch. He leaned into the the corner made by the back of the couch and its arm, slid his leg down behind Dorian and resettled them so that Dorian's back was pressed against his chest and Cullen's arms were wrapped around him. Cullen rested his chin on Dorian's shoulder and murmured, “That's better. Also, hi.” He paused for a moment. After the day he'd had, he'd needed a bit of warmth and having Dorian this close was just the ticket. He closed his eyes and just took a few breaths before continuing. “I'm sorry, it's just been a very strange day. Coming home… _here_ to you and a home-cooked meal is kind of perfect.”

That word, _home_ , was a slip of the tongue. Cullen had thought of Dorian's as such for a while now, but he didn't want to upset the cart by making assumptions. He still paid rent elsewhere, and the vast majority of his belongings were at Samson's, regardless of how often he slept there. Which wasn't very often anymore. Still, they'd never talked about it, save for a joke once long ago, so Cullen hoped Dorian didn't pick up on what he'd meant. The last thing he wanted on top of the stress over Mia's package was awkwardness with Dorian. Not tonight.

\----

“I’m glad you look forward to being here when it’s like that,” Dorian told him as he moved with Cullen so they were both comfortable. He leaned his head back so it rested against Cullen’s chest, and Dorian closed his eyes. When they were like this, they tended to breathe together, and Dorian found it helped ease any nerves he felt. There was something calming about the warmth of Cullen’s chest against his back and how solid he felt when he held Dorian close. “Want to talk about it?” he asked after a long moment, “the weirdness?”

One of Dorian’s hands rested over where Cullen’s held him and the other rested on Cullen’s knee. He rubbed small circles with his thumb, a hopefully comforting gesture, and tipped his head back to look up into that handsome face. “Did something happen?”

\----

“No, nothing happened, really,” Cullen sighed and squeezed Dorian a little tighter, “Just a little… I don't know, reminder of the past. My sister, Mia. She sent me something. Maker, I don't even know how she found me.” Cullen was quiet for a while as he realized that even here he was still afraid to open it. “I haven't… I've yet to scrape up the courage to open it. We didn't part under the best of circumstances,” he stated, and heard a little tremor in his own voice.

\----

Dorian squeezed Cullen’s hand and turned to kiss his cheek, “How long’s it been since you talked to her?” he asked gently, “I know it gets harder the longer you’re away.”

\----

Blond eyebrows knit together in thought as Cullen cast his memory back. How long _had_ it been? He ticked backwards through time, trying to make the timeline make sense. He’d known Dorian for over a year now, had been clean for eight months before meeting him, had been living with Samson almost two years before that. So, all told, it’d been something like four years. Four years since he’d had any contact with his family. “Too long, I suppose,” Cullen answered slowly, “I should at least let them know I’m alive, but Maker, I just don’t know how.” And he didn’t, but that wasn’t the whole of it. Part of him was afraid they hated him now, and another part thought that maybe that was for the best. He wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t who they remembered, not even now, so he’d been waiting - waiting until he was that person. He was waiting until he was sure he wouldn’t hurt them any more with… what he’d become.

\----

That made sense. Dorian often felt the same way with Gereon and Livia, despite how often he spoke with Felix. “Maybe her sending you something’s a good opportunity to try talking again,” he went on, “it’s less out of the blue than just a call, and you’d have a reason to get in touch.” The hand resting on Cullen’s squeezed again and he threaded their fingers together. Dorian was in no place to comment on family situations, but... Cullen deserved a better chance with his own family. From what little he knew, they were good people, and Cullen deserved to have as many good people in his life as possible. “But you don’t have to decide now,” he pointed out, “and I’ll be here when you open it, if you want.”

\----

“Thank you,” Cullen replied as he pressed a kiss to Dorian's cheek, “I'd like that.” He was grateful that Dorian offered rather than Cullen having to ask. It was just a package, and his sister wasn't a bad person - she'd never hunt him down just to send him something awful. But that was part of it, wasn't it? The fact that it likely contained some sort of kindness, some way of asking him to reach back to them, that's really what caused this sense of dread to settle over him. If that's what it contained, how long could he ignore it until he felt ready to make that leap? His heartbeat spiked as he thought about facing her, facing his parents after the horrible things he'd done. He owed it to them to be _better_ before he saw them again. He wanted to look them in the eye and be able to promise that all that was in the past without doubt. He hadn't been able to make that promise to Dorian - shit, he couldn't even make that promise to himself.

Maybe dinner and a good night's sleep would change his perspective, assuming he could sleep. Either way, he was sure he wouldn't be opening anything tonight. He sat there for a while, wrapped around Dorian and letting his warmth ground him before his stomach growled and he realized he was starving. “Well,” he chuckled softly, “I think it's about time to sample that stir fry. What do you think?”

\----

“In a minute,” Dorian answered, and turned to press a warm kiss to Cullen’s lips. One hand cupped his face and after a moment he leaned in and rested their foreheads together, “you deserve to have people who love you all around you.” It was probably the most true statement in all the world. Cullen deserved so much, more than even Dorian could give him, and he wanted him to have the opportunity to get that in his life. “I love you,” he told Cullen softly.

\----

Cullen blinked once and again at those words as he bit back the first response that came to mind - _no, I don't_ \- and offered a little smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was wonderful, amazing, unbelievable that Dorian thought so much of him. But… maybe that's what their sort of love was. Something to build each other up into more than they were apart. That thought was heartening and he smiled again, more fully as he returned that kiss and replied, “I love you, too.”

\----

He smiled again and patted Cullen’s knee, “You couch, I’ll food,” Dorian told him and got to his feet so he could stretch a little. His back popped a few times, which made him sigh happily, and Dorian smiled over his shoulder as he moved around the couch to head for the kitchen.

While he got some bowls down and filled with generous portions for them both, Dorian couldn’t help but look back over at Cullen, then to the small pile of things Cullen had dropped onto the counter. He studied the package, then looked back down to the food, and sighed. He hated knowing something like that was hurting Cullen, even if it was a good opportunity. Dorian wanted Cullen to be happy, wanted him to feel loved, and he only wished that he could chase away the monsters that seemed to follow him from the past few years. He couldn’t, not completely and not on his own, and he only hoped Cullen could get his family back so he could have people that would help with that.

He came back over to the couch and held out a bowl with a fork, “Something for the gentleman?” Dorian offered, “I’ve got a bottle of white open. Want a glass?”

\----

As he took the bowl Dorian held out, Cullen couldn't help but chuckle and respond with a bit of silliness. “Thank you, kind sir, I do believe I'd like a glass. If it's no trouble, of course.”

This was decidedly good. The warmth and the teasing, it was normal. It was fun. Cullen thought he could forget the unease he felt hanging over him like this. Maybe. It was better than being alone, at the very least, though he hoped Dorian couldn't sense how deep-seated that feeling of just… not being _right_ was. It was hard to describe. It wasn't panic, exactly, but his heart still pumped a little faster and his chest felt fluttery. It wasn't sadness, necessarily, but he still felt heavy and like he was holding tears at bay by the skin of his teeth. It was just… off. He was off, all because of a Maker-damned package.

So, yes, he was glad to be here with Dorian. He was glad that Dorian was warm and kind and teasing. He was glad that Dorian loved him. This _off_ feeling would pass in the face of that, Cullen was sure.

He tucked his feet under him and settled on the couch as he took a bite of his dinner. It was just about the furthest thing from Ferelden that it could be, but it was delicious. Hearty, even, with all that rice. “Maker, this is so good,” he called back to Dorian, “Hope you don't mind I started without you.”

\----

“Why would I mind?” Dorian chuckled as he poured and delivered a glass of wine to Cullen. He bent to kiss the top of the other man’s head before he got his own bowl and settled in beside him, then smiled a little, “so anything other than the package happen today?” Perhaps it would be best to steer away from that conversation for a while. If Cullen was feeling anxious about it, then it wasn’t going to do any good to keep picking at it. At least for now.

Dorian tucked into his food and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he looked back up at Cullen, “so did you manage to avoid Samson, you said?”

\----

Cullen swallowed and pursed his lips. “Almost entirely,” he answered with a sigh, “He popped out before I left, but didn't say anything. Just gave me a look.” It was a strange feeling to have Samson disappointed in him. He'd never have thought it possible, but there it was. Samson thought Dorian bad for Cullen's health after what had happened - even though Cullen hadn't really given him any details. He saw how Cullen was for that whole week, though, and that was enough for him, apparently. The argument they'd had when Cullen admitted he was going back had been… awful. Being in that apartment now was awful. “We're being incredibly _adult_ about this whole thing,” he laughed, a little bitterly.

Samson had been… close once, he cared for Cullen in his own way, but Samson didn't understand. And Cullen couldn't make him understand, hard as he'd tried. It was… well, it was a little sad, truth be told. It felt like something was ending, but maybe Cullen was just being sensitive.

\----

“I’m sorry I ruined your... friendship with him,” Dorian commented softly, “I know you two were close and he doesn’t approve of this. Or me.”

\----

“The day I need Raleigh Samson’s approval is the day I walk naked into the Void willingly,” Cullen answered with more than a little heat as he ran his free hand roughly through his hair. “He’s not… Maker, his opinion doesn’t matter here. Or anywhere.”

He took a breath to steady himself. He was all over the place today, it seemed. _Off,_ as he’d thought before. He was off. This shouldn’t be making him angry, but the idea of Dorian apologizing about anything regarding Samson… he shouldn’t have to do that. Samson was the wrong one here. Regardless, it shouldn’t be getting to him like this. It normally wouldn’t... but he was _off._

“I’m sorry, that came out harsher than I wanted,” he finally continued in a softer tone, “But you know it’s long overdue, him and me moving apart. I’ve been thinking it’s time for me to get out of there, anyway. Past time.”

\----

Dorian nodded, “I wholeheartedly agree,” and leaned over to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “you should be somewhere that’s comfortable and not a futon in someone’s living room.” Immediately the words to invite Cullen to stay with him filled his mouth, but Dorian swallowed them for the moment. Right now Cullen needed to deal with this situation, then they could tackle living situations. “I’m here for you, though,” he offered, “whatever you need, I’ll try to help.”

That change in Cullen’s mood was a bit of a worry, though, and Dorian tried to smile at him, “You’re in a better place now,” he went on, “and you shouldn’t be around people who might try to guilt you or whatever into situations you’re not comfortable in.”

\----

It took Cullen a second to realize that Dorian meant his general welfare by “a better place.” Yesterday, he'd have agreed. Today? Today it seemed like all it took was a thin package to set him off balance. Still, he'd come to Dorian's for something good, and he was letting his mood ruin it. The man had cooked for him, after all, and Cullen was snapping at him over Samson of all people. It was ungrateful - unworthy - and Cullen couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

“I agree,” he replied with a little apologetic smile, “I should be around people who do things like cook me dinner on bad days. Which is awfully sweet, by the way, and thank you again.”

\----

This time the smile was easier to come by and Dorian stretched his leg out to poke Cullen’s leg with his foot, “You think I’m done taking care of you today?” he asked, “you’d be wrong. Dinner’s just the start of it.” What better way to chase away bad thoughts and memories than falling into bed together, after all? Even if all that happened was Dorian gave Cullen a massage, he wanted to do something nice. His fingers practically itched with the desire to make him feel better, and he couldn’t think of a better way to do it.

\----

“Oh, is there dessert?” Cullen chuckled as he leaned over to kiss Dorian’s cheek, careful not to spill his dinner, of course. “Watch out, you’ll spoil me.”

\----

“Good,” he laughed as he turned to kiss Cullen’s lips, “you should be spoiled. If you didn’t think all my bath stuff was weird, I’d say you should go have one once you eat so you can be all warm and loose.”

\----

“Warm and loose, huh?” Cullen laughed with a little sideways grin, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your intents were less than pure.”

There, this was more like it. Just easy back and forth over dinner. There was absolutely no reason tonight shouldn’t be good, or at least better than the rest of his day had been. He’d just have to push that off-balance feeling back is all. He could do that. Dorian could help him do that.

“... not that that would be a problem,” he finished as he took a bite of his dinner.

\----

“Like a thorough ravishing wouldn’t be on the cards on a night I’m spoiling you,” Dorian chuckled as he poked Cullen with his foot again and speared a piece of lamb with his fork, “when's your next day off, by the way? Weekend, I hope?” If so, then they might be making a rather long revisit to Dorian spoiling Cullen. And, he had a feeling, that Cullen would return the favor in spades. He usually did.

\----

Even better. Cullen suddenly wanted to be done with dinner just about as quickly as possible, but there was time. He chewed as he thought about Dorian’s question. “You know, I’m not entirely sure,” he answered, “I’m pretty sure Saturday and Sunday are both clear, but I’ll check tomorrow. Any reason?”

\----

He shrugged, “Just wanted a weekend together,” and smiled over at Cullen as he finished the last of what was in his bowl before he set it off to the side, “I was thinking we could go down to the market, maybe? Get coffee and grab some things for dinner and maybe a nice brunch?” It was a delightfully normal thing to do, something fun and easy that let them spend time without it having to be a production, which might be necessary after all this shit with Samson and the package.

“But I’m also good for staying in bed for two days and ordering in,” Dorian teased with a grin, “if that’s more what you were thinking.”

\----

“Mmmm…. Two days in bed with you or shopping… that's a tough one,” Cullen replied thoughtfully as he sat his empty bowl down on the coffee table and picked up his wine. He took a sip and then smirked, just a bit, “I might need a preview of the ‘staying in bed’ plan to really make up my mind.” He was feeling more at ease now, more like himself. A good meal with better company and the potential for something more later seemed to be just what he needed. For now.

\----

Dorian chuckled and settled back against the arm of the couch with his knee pulled up, “finish your wine and we can see about that,” he teased, “Maker knows it’s been on my mind all day.” Which it had been. Since they’d talked that morning Dorian couldn’t help but plan some things to make Cullen’s day that much better. What was odd, if it even was odd, was that doing those kinds of things made _Dorian’s_ day better too. He’d never been much of one to want to do that kind of thing with anyone, the spending long hours lounging and making something intimate of it, but with Cullen he found it settled his nerves. When they were together like that, Dorian’s anxiety was often far away. Not completely gone, that was impossible, but he felt relaxed and safe in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

\----

“Has it, now?” Cullen finished his wine in one go and set the empty glass down on the table before scooting in closer to Dorian. He pulled the man's feet into his lap, tugging off his socks, and started kneading into the ball of one foot. Cullen knew Dorian was on his feet much of the day during busier times, and he'd spent his evening standing in front of a stove  cooking for him. A little foot rub was the least he could do. “... and here I thought you were working all day. What duties have I distracted you from?”

\----

A low groan escaped him and Dorian slumped over against the back of the couch almost immediately. There wasn’t much better than a foot rub, and Dorian was definitely one to just let himself go loose and enjoy it. Cullen’s hands were big and strong and warm and seemed to know all the places that ached from his fancy shoes and having to stand on hard tile all day. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whined happily, “just meetings. Though some new oil paintings from Antiva came in and I wanted to spend the afternoon in the archives. Sadly, I couldn’t.” Grey eyes opened and Dorian smiled, “I should be doing this for you, you know.”

\----

“What? No,” Cullen replied, smiling as his hands worked. “ _I_ sit on a stool most of the day and _you_ cooked. You hush and enjoy it.” Cullen was silent for a while, letting his fingers work into the soles of Dorian's feet and taking pleasure in every little noise of appreciation that escaped Dorian's lips. He let his mind stray, just for a bit, and of course it made its way back to whatever it was Mia had sent him. The low sense of dread was still there, but he could think about it here without his heart racing. That was something.

Maybe… maybe it _was_ time. Maybe he should swallow his fear or whatever part of him was keeping him away and just… reach out. He missed them, he did. It was another piece of his heart that had been empty now for so long, he'd learned to live with it, but this package… it brought all that back - the bad and the good. But, no. No, he couldn't. He was still so afraid he'd hurt them again, still unsure of his resolve. They deserved more than a broken son and brother. They deserved _Cullen_ as he was. Steadfast. Sure. Unafraid.

He sighed as his hands kept moving. “What should I do?” he asked quietly, “Whatever Mia's sent, I know part of it will be her just… I don't know, asking me back. And I don't know if I can.” His hands stopped to rest on Dorian's legs across his lap and he let his shoulders fall. “I'm still scared,” he admitted, “... to face them. After everything I put them through, you know.”

\----

Dorian watched Cullen through heavy lidded eyes as the other man pressed his fingers into all those sore spots. It felt amazing, relaxed him completely, but he couldn’t help but watch. Dorian, sadly, knew those kinds of feelings well. His parents used to send things, at first, and every time Dorian would have a small meltdown about it. Guilt and fear were a horrible mix, and it made his heart ache to know that Cullen was feeling that.

“Maybe see what Mia sent,” Dorian offered, “you’re not obligated to contact her just because you opened it, after all, and then see where you are.” He smiled and shifted so he could pull his feet out of Cullen’s lap, then scooted closer so he could lean against him, “If she’s asking you back it’s because she loves you and wants to make things better. And, you know, it’s alright to be scared of it. It’s been a long time and this is a big step. Anyone would be scared.”

\----

_Under no obligation._

Dorian was right about that, but how long could he go on not answering her before she showed up at his door now that she had an address?

_Maker, what if she met Samson?_  

Cullen's blood ran cold at that thought, despite the warm press of Dorian at his side. What would she think of him if she knew the type of people he put in with? Probably that he was no better. That he was the same as he had been when she made him leave years ago. He shivered and curled an arm around Dorian to bring that comforting warmth closer.

“Maybe,” Cullen answered slowly, “But she knows where I am now. She won't wait long. Not if I know her.” He pushed a little puff of air through his nose. “And I do.”

He rubbed one eye with the palm of his free hand and ran it through his hair. No, he wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready, but Mia was forcing his hand. It was oppressive; he felt trapped. She was making this move for him from halfway to Honnleath.

“I know her, and I know she _thinks_ she means it, but Maker…” He paused, tightening that arm around Dorian. He shouldn't have brought it up. He should have just continued with the teasing and followed that to its inevitable end. He should have enjoyed the time he had with Dorian and allowed the distraction. “I'm sorry. I'm obsessing. This was supposed to be a nice evening, and I'm being… this way.”

\----

“No, hey,” Dorian prompted and turned to cup Cullen’s cheek with one hand. He have the other man a serious look, then softened his expression to lean in and kiss his forehead, “remember what we promised. You’re not being any way, and it’s _alright_. I want you to talk to me about all this and what you’re feeling and what’s in your head about it.” Gently, he brushed Cullen’s cheek with his thumb and searched those beautiful amber eyes. It was like the fear and anxiety were coming off Cullen in waves.

But Dorian wasn’t going to make him suffer alone.

He leaned in and rested his forehead against Cullen’s like they so often did when something important or very personal was going on, “If your sister has your address it probably means something that she sent you a package instead of coming down first.” That made sense, right? “Maybe she’s waiting on a sign from you that you’re comfortable enough to get back in touch and this is just... testing the waters.,” he went on, “just take a breath. You’ve told me about your family and they seem like good people. They wouldn’t hunt you down and force you to do anything you didn’t want to. If they were the type to do that, they probably would have already.”

\----

“Yes, you’re right. They _are_ good people. They’re very good people and that’s why…” Cullen pulled away and shook his head. How could Cullen tell Dorian that, right now, he felt like that same broken man Dorian had met in the train station? The one who broke down at the first sign of kindness from a near-stranger. The one who barely made ends meet and only held himself together by a shoestring. It was like the clock had run backwards and it was a year ago and he was just one more kindness away from completely losing it on Dorian’s couch again. The only difference was that now he had a job. Nothing had changed, not really. How could he face those _very good people_ like this?

“... that’s why I’m not ready. I just… I need a little more time. And maybe a good night’s sleep,” he finished and gave Dorian a wan smile.

\----

“You don’t have to be ready,” Dorian told him as he reached down to take Cullen’s hand. He squeezed, lifted it to kiss the back of it, then nodded back toward the bedroom, “why don’t we go lie down for a while, hm? I’ll rub your back for a while and we can think about a shower. What do you say?”

The way Cullen worried about it was concerning, but Dorian really had no place to point that out. His own worry about family was just as bad, and Dorian could understand not wanting to put himself through opening that package and ruining what good mindset he’d had for a while. Still, this was Cullen and _not_ Dorian. Cullen’s family was better than Dorian’s was, from what he understood, and Cullen should have them close. That, however, could wait for when Cullen was ready. Trying to fight about family and everything now was going to just make it worse.

\----

Cullen gave Dorian a smile, a bit larger this time and grateful. He'd been the one to bring it up, but talking about it… maybe he wasn't even ready for that much yet. Dorian seemed to understand that, and Cullen was thankful that he wasn't asking for more. _Tomorrow_ , he thought, _I'll give myself a night. One good night before I try to find the courage._

He didn't know if it would work, if he could muster up enough bravery to open that package and eventually make contact again, but it _sounded_ like a good plan. He could try and push it down for now, push it down and just enjoy the moments he had.

“I say that sounds perfect right now.” Cullen leaned in for a kiss and pulled back feeling a little more together, a crooked little grin turning one side of his mouth up, “I will never turn down a backrub. Ever.”

\----

Dorian kissed him again before he got to his feet and held out a hand to help Cullen up, “I know you won’t,” he teased warmly as he wiggled his fingers, “because mine _are_ the best.” That little smile was a good sign, at least. Maybe Cullen wouldn’t be lost completely to the fear and guilt and everything else. Maybe things like this: the gentle attention and the promise to be there, maybe it would help him realize he didn’t have to do it alone. That would certainly be something.

So he led them back to the bedroom and leaned in for another kiss as he got Cullen’s shirt off and gestured toward the bed, “Get comfortable,” Dorian instructed, “I’m going to go grab that lotion bar, hm?”

\----

As he stretched out across the bed and buried his face in a pillow, Cullen worked to just clear his mind. He focused on the way the sheets felt against his skin and how the pillow he'd grabbed smelled like Dorian. Anything but what they'd been talking about. Anything but what he'd been thinking. He wanted to lose himself in thoughtless sensation, the physical rather than the mental. And this would help. The feeling of Dorian's beautiful but strong hands working into tired and tense muscle would carry him away, he knew, and before long, his skin was buzzing with anticipation. He could lose himself for a while like this and keep whatever was threatening at bay for just a little bit longer. Until he was strong enough to finally deal with it. Yes, this was a good plan. It would work.

Or so he told himself.

\----

Dorian set to work, set to finding all those tight muscles that he knew gave Cullen some trouble, and after a while he leaned over and kissed between Cullen’s shoulderblades. He couldn’t help but smile for it, though. There wasn’t much better than having Cullen under his hands for any reason, and he delighted in making him feel better. It was something he could actually _do_ , after all, and Dorian wanted to take action to bolster the words he said when he told Cullen he’d help take care of him.

He leaned over again after a while and nuzzled his nose into the back of Cullen’s neck, “I love you,” Dorian breathed into Cullen’s ear before he dug his thumbs into the knots just above Cullen’s hips, “and one day you’ll have to tell me all the stories about what’s got your back so screwed up.”

\----

Cullen had wanted to lose himself under Dorian’s hands, and that’s exactly what was happening. He just breathed and took everything in, from the weight of Dorian straddling him to the way his fingers worked into Cullen’s muscles, that touch was all he let himself think about and it was so good. Dorian played him like a fiddle - he just knew by now every little spot, every movement of his hands that would draw a groan from Cullen’s lips. Cullen drifted away, letting himself warm and relax with every press of Dorian’s palm or twist of his fingers.

The feeling of warm breath on the back of his neck sent a shiver down Cullen’s spine and the way Dorian’s hands dug in above his hips made him arch his back. That warmth was spreading lower and he knew that soon, he’d want to feel those hands elsewhere. “I love you,” he returned, voice thick and low, “Don’t stop. Please.”

Those stories were hardly appropriate to entertain right now when everything felt so nice and right. He carried everything on his back, every mistake he’d ever made, every pang of guilt he’d ever felt, every hurtful thing he’d ever done… that’s where all those knots came from. That was the last thing he wanted to think about, so Dorian’s request went unacknowledged in favor of the comfort Cullen took from a mind gloriously devoid of anything that wasn’t touch and feel and Dorian.

\----

That low rasp was one of Dorian’s favorite things. Cullen always sounded so sexy when he was like this, and Dorian grinned to himself as he worked out those knots. “Maybe once you’re all relaxed, I should make you say that for a different reason,” he teased, and smoothed his hands back along Cullen’s back with his palms flat to help ease any lingering ache. The sight of the way Cullen’s back curved and those broad shoulders was so... sexy. Cullen was, of anyone Dorian had known, definitely the sexiest man he’d ever seen. Cullen wouldn’t agree, he knew that, but he thought it to be true. It was an effortless kind of sexiness, one that came from how big and warm and strong he was on the outside and kind and wonderful on the inside.

Dorian raked his nails along Cullen’s back in a gentle scratch, not anything hard enough to leave marks, and set to getting all of those hard to reach places. He smiled to himself, content in what he was doing, and just scratched and rubbed gently. It was a good way to come down after the massage, and Dorian bent down to press kisses over Cullen’s spine for a little while, “How’s a shower sound?” he asked softly, just in case the other man was asleep now.

\----

“Mmmmmm,” Cullen answered. The feeling of nails scratching down his back sent waves of pleasure through him and those kisses on sensitive skin were almost too much. Almost. He turned in place under Dorian, brushing the hair out of his face before pulling the other man down into a kiss, deep and hungry. _Yes. This. This is what I need. Him._ Pale hands reached up to grip the back of Dorian's neck, holding him there as that kiss deepened.

He wanted to feel Dorian around him and taste him on his lips and just not think.

He pulled away, breathless, and looked up at Dorian with heavy-lidded eyes. “Does that answer your question?”

\----

“Shower could always happen in a bit, too,” he pointed out against Cullen’s lips before he kissed him again. Seeing him all relaxed and happy definitely did _something_ for Dorian, as did those hungry kisses and low, rumbly voice. Besides, a shower after everything made more sense. Right?

So Dorian tipped his chin down and nuzzled and nosed at Cullen’s neck before he nipped at the other man’s pulse. He so loved how Cullen smelled and how his skin tasted under his lips. The way Cullen’s heartbeat fluttered against his lips was maddening, and Dorian kissed his way back up to the other man’s ear to nibble at it, “Let me take care of you,” he all but purred for Cullen to hear, “I’ll make it so you can’t think anything but my name.”

\----

“Yes,” Cullen breathed and closed his eyes. “Take care of me.” Those words were a balm, all he needed but never knew. Just to _let go_ and let Dorian lead him where he would. Just to sink into the sensation and let his mind fall and let Dorian _take care of him._ He shuddered under the other man’s weight, bare chest heaving as he let that warm, fuzzy feeling wash over him. Already, his thoughts were full of nothing but Dorian and the want for more. His hands pulled at the man’s shirt, needing the feel of Dorian’s body under his fingertips as his scarred lips found whatever bare skin they could to taste.

\----

Later that night, once they’d finally pulled themselves out of bed to shower and get changed, Dorian slid back under the covers so he could drape his arm around Cullen’s waist. Even in the dim light of the room he could see the scratch marks he’d left on the other man’s back, ones that had nothing to do with the massage earlier, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss against one of the of long, red streaks. Cullen’s skin was warm from a shower and being curled up under the blankets, and Dorian snuggled in close so his forehead rested in the divot between his shoulderblades. Cullen seemed like his mind had been cleared, which had been Dorian’s aim, and he sighed happily as he took in the feel of warm, clean skin against his own.

“I’ve got you,” Dorian murmured against Cullen’s back as he tangled their legs together. He was nicely tired, worn out from earlier and all the activity and happy hormones that flooded him now, and the feeling of Cullen’s breathing against his chest eased him further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).
> 
> Bumpy road ahead folks. Hold on to something.


	25. Backslide [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the package is opened and a promise is broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, please. This is the beginning of a really rough bunch of chapters.

 

There. That was better. That was what he needed to chase all those awful thoughts away and empty his mind. Cullen sighed happily as he felt Dorian’s arms wrapping around him in that warm bed. It had been rough, and Cullen's body was loose and aching in all the right ways. Dorian had delivered on his promise to take care of him… and then some.

Cullen just relaxed into Dorian's embrace now and enjoyed the pleasant foggy buzz that still clouded his thoughts. That buzz, the way he let go with Dorian, that was all new for him. He'd never felt that before, with anyone, and he found it… freeing. For his part, Dorian didn't seem to mind - he seemed to like it, too, so Cullen was satisfied. Comfortable, despite the day he'd had and the things he'd been thinking about himself only hours earlier. “I love you,” he breathed, voice content and thick with sleep, as he tangled their fingers together and curled in under Dorian's arm more fully.

Whatever else happened, that much was true. Would probably always be true.

It wasn't long before the warmth they shared and the steady rise and fall of Dorian's chest against his back lulled Cullen into a deep sleep.

_It was raining. It was raining, and Cullen was driving. He was angry. He was always angry. He didn't want to go - didn’t want to deal with the people Ella worked with and didn't want to be out in this mess. He could barely see the road ahead of him for the rain, despite the fact that the wipers were on full._

_“You don't have to ignore me. What's going on?” she asked, gently enough but her tone had an edge to it. She was angry, too._

_“Maker's breath, I'm not ignoring you,” he snapped, “I'm concentrating.”_

_“This thing has been on the calendar for months. You said you'd go.”_

_“I'm going, ok? I'm in the damn car, and we're going.”_

_“You know what? Turn around. I'll go by myself if this is how you're going to be all night.”_

_“Don't be ridiculous,” he turned his head to look at her, “We're already halfway…”_

_But in a flash, his world was spinning and out of control. He didn't have time to move or react, not that it would have helped. This end was already written. It never ended any other way. The squealing crunch of metal and the sudden, terrible silence that followed was all he knew for Maker knew how long._

_In a haze, he took stock. He seemed to be ok, though he felt warm wetness trailing down his chin and neck and his mouth was full of copper. A shaking hand lifted to wipe at his lips. Blood. It was blood. Amber eyes widened in sudden fear as he looked over at his wife._

_Crushed. Pinned. Broken. She was staring at him, impossibly pale and bleeding. Maker, there was blood everywhere. How could there be so much? Her mouth was working, she was gasping for air, fading, but still trying to speak. Her eyes were pleading. She knew. She knew._

_“Don't… don't talk. I'll call for help. You'll be fine. Just hold on, Ellie. Hold on.”_

_His hands fumbled in his pockets. “Where’s my fucking phone?”_

_“Shhhh….. Cullen,” her voice was so small. Barely there, but it burned into his brain and branded him forever. “It's… ok. You'll be ok. I love you.”_

_And the moment was gone and so was she. He grabbed her shoulders and shook, shook hard in desperation and fear._

_“Ella, Ellie… no. No. NO. Maker, don't leave. I don't want to… I can’t do this without you.”_

_Wake up. Wake up. Wakeupwakeupwakeup. This is where you wake up._

_But he didn't, and in horror, he saw a wide and sinister grin form, full of teeth and cruel delight, on his wife's face as her head lifted and she looked at him with eyes bleeding black. She spoke, but the voice coming from her mouth was and wasn’t hers. There was another layered onto it. A man’s. It was a man’s voice. Someone he didn’t know yet, but would. Someone he didn’t love yet, but would. That other voice, it was Dorian's somehow._

_“Weak. You're fucking weak. You always have been. You always will be. Did you think I loved you? Did you think anyone could love you?”_

_And somehow, she leaned closer, despite being pinned and crushed. Cullen reeled away in horror, but still she approached, her movements scrabbling and jerking. She pulled herself closer with clawed fingers so her mouth, gashed and grinning, was next to his ear._

_“I'm going to fuck you until I'm tired of you. Bleed you dry and leave you nothing,” and this time it was just Dorian’s voice, sickly sweet and full of cruel laughter. “Because that's what you are. Nothing.”_

Cullen bolted upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat. Frantic, he cast wide eyes around the dark room as his breathing and mind threatened to spin out if control. Everything was coming apart. Nothing made sense. The fabric of his mind was torn. 

Soft breathing from his side. A movement in bed next to him. Context. He was at Dorian's. He was at Dorian's and he was warm and safe. The tatters of his mind slowly knit themselves back together, but he knew there would be no more sleep tonight.

He moved out of bed, careful not to wake Dorian, and got dressed quietly to go outside and have a smoke. He needed it, there was no question. It was a ritual that grounded him a bit, and after he finished, he made his way back up to Dorian's apartment.

The package, the thing that had likely triggered that terrifying nightmare, was where he'd left it on the counter. He picked it up and brought it with him to the couch. He didn't open it, that prospect was just as terrifying as the nightmare had been. He just… sat it on the table in front of the couch and stared. And stared. Silently, motionless, he stared.

_That's what you are. Nothing._

\----

The feeling of Cullen moving made Dorian stir, though only for a moment, before he fell back to sleep. He’d been slowly getting the hang of this sleeping in bed with someone else regularly thing, but after the night they had, his body was too tired to stay awake for longer than a brief second. Surely if something was that wrong an alarm or something would go off. Or Cullen would wake him. Yes, that’s what would happen. Cullen would wake him.

He slept fitfully, tossed and turned, and when Dorian finally woke up the following morning (a bit before his alarm) he realized it was because he was alone in bed. It took him a moment to comprehend that, and for a moment he wondered if the night before had perhaps been a dream and Cullen hadn’t stayed there, and he slid out from under the blankets so he could head for the living room. One hand scratched at his hair while the other rubbed his eyes and he frowned when he saw Cullen hunched over on the couch and staring at the package he’d brought over the night before.

“Maker, tell me you didn’t stay up all night,” Dorian mused as he moved along the back of the couch to kiss the top of Cullen’s head. When he didn’t get a response, he sat on the arm of the couch closest to Cullen and rested a hand on his leg, “Are you with me?” he asked gently, “Cullen?”

\----

_Nothingnothingnothing._

Hours on end in the dark of that.

_Nothingnothingnothing_

And then

_Cullen?_

A switch flipped in his mind and slowly, the gears started turning again. He blinked as life returned to his face. Maker, how long had he been out here? He felt like he'd just sat down. He only meant to sit there for a bit, just until he calmed enough from that… nightmare… to at least lay back down with Dorian, even if he couldn't go back to sleep. But now the man was awake and there and looking at him like he was

_Nothing_

sick or worse. Either way, concern was painted on his face, and Cullen felt a little guilty for putting it there. He sat back, muscles and joints complaining for the movement after having been

_Nothing_

still for so long. Cullen shrugged and offered a little smile up at Dorian, though his eyes were flat, still catching up with the rest of him. “Couldn't sleep,” he explained, “Nightmare. I didn't want to wake you, so I came out here.”

\----

He frowned for that and reached out to pull Cullen closer so the other man’s head rested in his lap where he sat on the arm of the couch and so Dorian could brush his fingers through Cullen’s hair and over his neck. “Come here,” he’d prompted warmly, and bent to kiss those curls as he finger combed them, “I’ve got you, if it helps.” Hopefully it did, even a little. Nightmares were no joke, and Dorian could only imagine what would be so bad as to make Cullen actually get up and come sit out there for the Maker only knew how long.

“I can make us something to drink,” Dorian went on, “I’ve got a while until I have to be up and doing. Maybe some hot chocolate?”

\----

Everything felt so unreal. The dream and reality meshed, and Cullen tried not to wince at the sound of Dorian’s voice - _bleed you dry -_ or stiffen at the touch of his hand. He knew it was his mind. He knew it was spurred by the uncertainty and doubt kicked up by that package. He knew _that_ wasn’t Ella, _that_ wasn’t Dorian. It was _him_. It was all Cullen and whatever demons ranged around in his head causing this. He knew but he still had to close his eyes and concentrate on keeping the dream out and letting Dorian, the real Dorian, in.

It took a minute, but Cullen finally relaxed a little under Dorian’s fingers, finally letting them soothe him a bit. Something hot to drink actually sounded good. It might at least make him feel a little more there and a lot less lost. Though what would really end this, for better or worse, would be to simply open that package.

“Yes, please,” he finally answered. Amber eyes opened and looked up into those lovely grey eyes, full of worry, “And Dorian… I need to just open this thing. I have to… have it done. One way or the other.” Cullen paused. He didn’t want to wait until Dorian got off work. He couldn’t handle another 8 hours of _nothing nothing_ ringing in his head, but he didn’t want to do it alone. “Do you have time to just… sit with me while I do?”

\----

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation and ruffled that soft hair again as he smiled, “my first meeting isn’t even until ten so I can go in a bit later if you need me to stay for a while.” Dorian was concerned about this whole package thing, though perhaps not as much as Cullen was, and while he was glad Cullen wanted it done, he was concerned that maybe he was pushing too hard. Sadly, it wasn’t his place to comment. Not really. All he could do was be there, and that’s what he was going to do.

He bent and kissed the top of Cullen’s head again before he got to his feet to make that hot chocolate. Coffee could come after. First they needed something hot and sweet to help calm Cullen’s nerves. The coffee would only make those worse, if he was anything like Dorian, and that wasn’t what they needed so early in the morning. “One hot chocolate coming up, hm?” he offered.

\----

“Sounds good. Thanks,” Cullen replied. As Dorian rattled around in the kitchen fishing out mugs and a pan, Cullen settled back against the couch, eyes closed. He raised one hand, stretching it across his forehead to massage his temples. He didn't have a headache exactly, but it felt like a storm was brewing there. Lack of sleep, and now he was having to work to suppress the thoughts he'd had last night before Dorian worked them away. Maker, he'd sat there for _hours_ , literally thinking about nothing, but now… now everything was trying to crowd back in. All those insecurities and fears, fighting for his attention. _You're not ready for this. You're not what your family wants. You can't handle this. You can't really handle Dorian. You're still hurting from that, too. And now this? No._

“Stop,” he whispered under his breath, low so Dorian couldn't hear. “Stop,” he said again as he took a long, deep breath. And for a wonder, they quieted. It was a babbling buzz in the back of his mind rather than that echoing chorus. He could have cried in relief.

\----

After a few minutes Dorian came over bearing two steaming mugs and he handed one off to Cullen, “Here,” he offered as he kissed Cullen’s cheek. Hopefully that would help something. Anything. Cullen looked exhausted and maybe even a bit sick, and Dorian ached to pull him back to bed and get him to sleep for a while.

He settled in beside the other man and rested a hand on Cullen’s knee, “are you okay?” Dorian asked gently, “I mean, obviously you’re worried... but do you need me to stay with you today, maybe? I can, if you want me to.”

\----

“What?” Cullen asked as his mind caught up with what Dorian was saying. “Oh, no, no. You don’t have to do that.” He scratched at the back of his neck and met Dorian’s eyes, “Really, you don’t. I’m mostly just tired,” he continued. It was the truth, in a way. He was confident he’d have more control over himself if that nightmare hadn’t stolen so much sleep from him. “Once I find out what’s in this thing,” he said as he gestured to the package on the table, “I won’t have to worry about it any more. I’m going right to bed as soon as you leave for work.”

\----

That was something, at least. If Cullen slept, he’d probably feel better. “Do you want to be the one to open it or would you like me to?” Dorian asked before he sipped from his mug, “sort of... do it like a bandage, maybe?” He smiled a little and nudged Cullen’s arm, “who knows? Maybe it’s just... a book or something? Nothing untoward or anything. Just a ‘thinking of you’ something.”

\----

“No,” Cullen took a breath, “I’ll do it. I just… I want you here in case.

Shaking hands picked up the package he'd stared at for hours, and trembling fingers pulled the strip that opened it. Cullen looked over at Dorian, eyes seeking reassurance before he took a steadying breath and pulled out the contents. A letter. A large envelope. A folded piece of vellum. Vellum. An art piece. His mind swirled - that folded paper could only be one thing, and his heart raced as he picked it up and opened it.

_And in the end, the love you take_

_Is equal to the love you make_

It was Ella’s favorite lyric. The one she drew strength from. The one that kept her going, kept her trying when things got hard. She'd commissioned an artist to illuminate it, and it hung by their door as a reminder to _be better_ each day before they left.

The world was spinning. He could feel it move as images shifted and dissolved before his eyes. And, oh, on the heels of that dream, it hurt so damn much to think of her. He remembered that she'd kiss the first two fingers on her left hand and press them to that quote every day. _For luck_ she'd once said with a laugh. But her luck had run out because he'd been careless and stupid. _You’ll be ok. I love you._ The world continued to wobble as visions of their life together materialized and faded, overlapping into a picture of what he'd had. What he'd lost. What he'd never get back.

His breathing turned shallow and rapid as he gripped Dorian's knee for dear life. He never thought he'd see this again, thought it gone forever. How? It didn't make sense that it should be here now after all these years, but then again, what made sense anymore?

Somehow, there was more. He dreaded what was in that envelope, even as he moved to pick it up and pull out what lay inside.

“No,” he groaned low and plaintive as he registered what he was looking at. “No,” he repeated as he felt the bottom drop out and his mind pull away in horror at what he was seeing.

They were just… pictures. Snapshots of a time long ago and far away. He was a teenager in one, hunched over a guitar with a look of concentration painting his face. A boy in another, grinning broadly and missing a few teeth as he held up what had to be the smallest fish in the lake near their home. The others, they were harder. He stood in another, a man on his wedding day with his bride. Smiling and shining and golden. Clean-cut with tastefully cropped hair that swept back from an unscarred face. Another, and he was on vacation, Bran’s boy from his first marriage hanging from one of his arms. Another, and he was holding Ella from behind as they smiled into the camera. Another, and they were collapsed into a pile of leaves with their dog licking at their faces. There were more, many more, but he couldn't bear to keep going.

And in every one, all he could see was the gap, wide and deep, that separated who he was from who he should be. He should be that man who stood tall and faced his challenges with a cocky smile. He should be that man who never hurt his family. He should be the man who never trembled in fear at the sight of a simple collection of memories. He should be the man who was never shackled by chemicals and the yoke of guilt that hung heavy around his neck.

He should be _Cullen Stanton Rutherford._

He was just a shade of that man, he knew that now as he stared hard proof in the face. His face. He could reach that man no more than he could turn back the wheel of time. He would only _ever_ be a shade of that man.

He dropped that handful of ghosts on the table in front of him. He was still then, staring at the photographs but not really seeing anything. He was still, and his mind only held only...

_I can't reach him. I am nothing._

\----

Dorian couldn’t pretend to understand what it was that Cullen unwrapped. It looked like an art piece, one that he wouldn’t recognize, that obviously had significance. Then... Maker, the pictures. Dorian knew the feeling of seeing things like that. He could remember, in a time he didn’t _want_ to remember, looking through stacks of pictures of he and Rilienus after he’d come back and the other man had ignored him. To see pictures of Cullen when he was younger, happier, and with his wife... well, Dorian swallowed that particular feeling of inadequacy. This wasn’t about him. This was about Cullen and this package his sister had sent. Some part of him had hoped it would be something small, a token of thought that wasn’t too much, but obviously not.

The grip Cullen had on his leg had him even more concerned, and Dorian set his mug down before he gathered Cullen into his arms. The look on Cullen’s face said panic, and it was an expression Dorian knew well. Even if it was a quiet panic brought on by shock or whatever it was, the way he dropped the pictures and the note and everything was beat for beat how Dorian could be. So he wrapped his arms around Cullen’s shoulders and tucked him into his chest, “Come here,” he murmured, “I’ve got you. It’s alright.” They could talk about the contents later. For now, Dorian just needed to make sure Cullen was alright.

\----

It took a while before Cullen even registered that he'd been moved. It took a while for the fact that he had arms around him to sink in. He heard words, vague and faraway. The tone was soothing, but the voice. The voice was one half of that demon's voice from his dream and the arms around him suddenly felt like they were trapping him. Fear, raw and insistent and layered on top of fresh pain, took control and he pushed away, eyes wide and rolling.

Those eyes couldn't settle on any one thing. They took in pieces of the whole. Black hair. Curled mustache. Smooth, bronze neck. Dark mole. Grey eyes. Dorian. And Cullen was coming back. It was Dorian, not some horror from his nightmare made flesh. This was Dorian, and he was real and warm and there. And Cullen had just pushed him away.

He closed his eyes for a while and just breathed until he had a better grip on things. In and out. In and out. In and out until his heart and mind slowed.

_Get. Your. Shit. Together. Get it together until he leaves. Get it together so he doesn't worry. Then fall apart where he can't see. Where he can't see how weak you are._

Cullen fell back against Dorian's chest, picking up one of the man's hands to wrap that arm back around him. _Fine. Make him think you're fine._

“I… I'm sorry. I just… I'm tired and a little freaked out. I didn't expect… any of that.”

\----

“It’s alright,” Dorian heard himself say before he wrapped his arm back around Cullen. Any other time he might have been concerned about being pushed away, but he’d done much the same in his own panic. He knew. He understood. Whatever Cullen needed, however he needed to do it, Dorian wasn’t going to put pressure on. This _wasn’t_ about him. It wasn’t about their relationship. Odds were good Cullen’s mind wasn’t anywhere near Dorian or about them, and he understood that.

He pressed a few kisses into Cullen’s hair and rubbed his hands over the other man’s back, “I’ve got you, though,” Dorian repeated, “okay? I’ve got you.”

\----

No comfort from those kisses. No comfort from those hands. Cullen barely felt them as he leaned against Dorian's frame. His mind reeled and spun from having those images thrust into his face. Pictures of what he'd never be, proof of how far he'd fallen spread out on the table. He couldn't see them, tucked as he was under Dorian's chin, but they’d done their damage, had chiseled themselves into his memory, and now they lay in wait to keep reminding him.

_Hold it together. Hold it together._ It was a chant, a prayer, the only thing keeping the strained thread of his mind from snapping. _Hold it together._ Just for a while. Just until Dorian was gone. Just until he was alone. He could do that. He could be convincing.

“You do,” he smiled, and it _almost_ looked genuine. “Thank you for being here. Clearly, it was upsetting. But it's done now, so there's that.”

\----

Oh, Dorian didn’t like that expression. He reached up and ruffled Cullen’s hair, a small smile on his face as well. A break or a panic attack, whatever this was, Dorian knew that quiet sort of fear there. He’d seen it in his own eyes enough times, after all. “Are you okay?” Dorian asked, “and don’t lie to me.”

\----

“No,” Cullen answered, “I didn't get much sleep, and that was a shock to the system.” He had to be careful. He had to be convincing. Dorian wouldn't believe anything less than _no_ at this point, so _no_ is what he got. It was the truth, not the entire truth, but the truth nonetheless. Besides, Cullen wasn't entirely focused on the truth or them or their promise right now. _Cullen_ was barely there at all, and the powers in control right now just wanted to be alone so whatever this was could run its course. “I'll feel better once I get some sleep. I just didn't think I could before I saw what was in there.”

\----

He studied Cullen's face for that. Dorian didn’t believe him. Not really. It wasn’t a lack of sleep that made Cullen react that way. He knew that better than he knew himself. That said, pushing wasn’t going to achieve anything. “I’d believe that, but…” Dorian started, then sighed, “I don’t think you should be alone. Even just to sleep. I don’t know that I want to make you have to deal with this on your own.”

\----

_fuckfuckfuck_

The feeling of being trapped rose again, and Cullen felt his heartbeat grow fluttery and fast. _Make him leave. Make him go. Make him believe you._

Cullen smiled again. “Thank you. That means a lot,” he said and then sighed, “But I'm really just going to sleep. Plus, you have that meeting you said, and I'd feel worse pulling you away.”

\----

Grey eyes studied that handsome, tired face, and Dorian sighed. “I’m going to at least call you later,” he pointed out, “alright? Once you’ve slept for a little while?”

\----

“Yes, of course,” Cullen answered, and that voice that had been driving him sighed in relief. He laid his head back down against Dorian’s chest. He wasn’t there still, not really, but knowing that he’d soon be alone to let this out helped him hold himself together. Knowing that the effort to do so was temporary made it… easier. “... and I’ll call you. If I can’t sleep or… anything changes.”

\----

“If you’re sure,” Dorian commented as he ran his fingers through Cullen’s hair. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about any of it. The only thing he was sure about was that if he tried to smother Cullen that it would only end badly. There wasn’t anything he could do but take his word. “Promise me you’ll keep talking to me, though?” he asked, “even just a quick something. I don’t have that much going on today.”

\----

“I will, assuming I'm awake,” Cullen replied with closed eyes. _Tell him what he needs to hear._ “Cross my heart…”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that. Never in all the time he’d known Cullen had he ever heard the man say something like that. Dorian’s resolve fluttered and he thought for a moment about calling Josephine and telling her that he’d just do his client meetings via the laptop, but the last thing he wanted to do was make Cullen feel like he was smothering him.

Back in the bedroom, Dorian’s phone started going off. His alarm. Now he needed to get up and start thinking about work and everything else. He turned back to Cullen and kissed his forehead, “let me get that,” he prompted, “can you maybe start some coffee?”

\----

“Coffee. Sure, I can do that,” Cullen said as he lifted himself from the couch. He was careful not to let his eyes stray to the pile of photos he'd dropped there - if he did that, he knew there'd be no waiting for Dorian to leave. That tenuous grip on reality he had would fail, and everything would fall apart on the spot. Instead, he willed himself to focus on the job of making coffee. Simple as it was, each little task demanded all of his attention and filled his mind. He turned the pot on once the grounds and water were in it, and just stood there, swaying without knowing, and stared as the carafe slowly filled.

\----

While Dorian shut off his alarm and quickly got himself dressed he couldn’t help but... think. He didn’t like how Cullen sounded, especially after that reaction to the package. It was worrisome. Cullen had a rough time of it as it was, and something like that had the capacity to do a lot of damage. Dorian understood the damage, but he didn’t quite understand how to help. So he’d give Cullen space, inasmuch as he felt he could, but he’d pay attention. He had to.

The signs, however, weren’t good. The way Cullen spoke was off. _Wrong_. That wasn’t Dorian’s imagination. And the blank expression he wore... Maker. Dorian watched Cullen from the bedroom doorway, watched him just stand at the counter, and again he worried that he ought to stay. Maybe he would come home at lunch. Yes. That was a good plan. Let Cullen sleep and feel a little more normal, then come home and they could see how he felt. Okay.

He took a breath and came back out into the living room, “Smells good,” Dorian began, then frowned as he watched Cullen seem to actively rearrange his expression into something attentive. It wasn’t quite quick enough to look normal. Fuck. He moved over to Cullen, pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and sighed, “maybe have a shower before you lie back down. That might help you relax a little? I know sometimes I need just a bath or shower or something or I’m in the worst mood.”

\----

_He's back and he's talking. Answer him._

“A shower,” Cullen repeated, more for his own benefit than anything else - a confirmation that he'd understood what Dorian was saying. _Now smile_. And he smiled. “Yes, that sounds like a great idea. Perfect right now. A shower and then back to bed.” _Now kiss him. You'd normally do that, right?_ And Cullen moved to kiss Dorian's forehead. “...and then sleep for as long as I can.”

\----

Oh, he really didn’t like this. Not at all. “Cullen,” Dorian prompted as he lifted his hands to cup the other man’s cheeks, he stared into those amber eyes that looked... looked _dead_. Dorian had never seen that before. It was like Cullen wasn’t even in there. No, this wasn’t okay. “Please talk to me,” he prompted softly, “this isn’t like you. None of this is. You’re scaring me.”

\----

_You’re scaring me._

And for a moment, Cullen was there again. Or mostly there, and it hurt to hear Dorian say that. It hurt to know that he was scaring him, but that didn’t make the need to be alone any less great or fill that aching hollow place in him or quiet any of the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him… that _had_ overwhelmed him. He lifted a hand to cover one of Dorian’s at his cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, “I don’t mean to scare you. I’m just… off. I think I had maybe two hours of sleep last night, and I worked myself sick over that package all day yesterday.” He turned his head to kiss one of Dorian’s palms, “It’ll be ok. I’ll be ok. I promise.”

\----

That was better. That was more normal. For a moment those eyes seemed like Cullen was there and with him, and it eased his worry. Sometimes people just needed to not think or _be_. Dorian had done it more than he cared to admit, but he’d never had anyone there with him when it happened. He could only imagine what it looked like. “Alright,” he agreed after a long moment and leaned in to rest his forehead against Cullen’s. He needed to finish getting ready and head out before too long, but he didn’t want to go just yet, “I’ll send you a message at lunch,” Dorian offered, “if you’re awake, answer it. If not, don’t worry about it. I’ll... bring home something nice for dinner tonight. Something easy. How’s that sound?”

\----

“Good. It sounds good,” Cullen smiled and brought his hand up to rest on the back of Dorian’s neck. “...but that means I’ll owe you _two_ dinners,” he said and actually chuckled a little.  

Just a little bit longer. He only had to keep this up for a little bit longer now.

\----

“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” Dorian pointed out before he kissed those scarred lips for just a moment, “When that coffee finishes think you could fill up that travel mug of mine? That meeting I have at ten is going to be boring like you wouldn’t believe and I’ll need to be as caffeinated as possible.” He tried to smile and kissed Cullen again, “Just so I can finish getting ready?”

\----

“No problem,” Cullen answered and returned with another light kiss before Dorian stepped away to finish getting ready. As soon as Dorian was gone, however, _Cullen_ descended again. The work required to keep that level of awareness up was far too great to keep it going when he didn’t have to. So he moved back down, and let his body do the work of finding mugs and pouring coffee without him.

_Almost there._

\----

Dorian finished getting dressed and brushed his teeth before he returned to the kitchen. Cullen’s face was back to that blank slate kind of expression, and Dorian took a breath. He knew Cullen needed space. Logically, he knew that. That didn’t make leaving any easier. But he had to. Staying would only make it worse.

So he reached out to rest a hand on Cullen’s back and took the filled mug so he could wrap his arms around it, “I’ll... text you later, alright?” he offered, and leaned in to kiss Cullen’s lips for a moment before he lifted one warm hand to cup his face and rest his forehead against the other man’s, “I love you.”

And then he left. He left because he knew it was right, even if it wasn’t _right_ , and because he knew Cullen wouldn’t talk anyway. They’d promised, they’d both promised, but Dorian couldn’t expect Cullen to explain. What he saw of the pictures was enough, and pushing would only make it worse. So he gave him space.

Space was, for as bad as it made him feel, the right option.

\----

Dorian was gone and Cullen was finally alone and the chant of _hold it together_ had ceased. Now he could finally let go. Those voices, the thoughts that had been controlling him all morning since he set eyes on the pictures of the past Mia had sent, relinquished and allowed Cullen to bubble back to the top. He wished they hadn’t.

He sat back down on the couch, resuming the same spot he’d been in for hours before Dorian woke up. He just sat as everything he’d been keeping back through sheer force of will came tumbling loose, free to tear through his mind unencumbered. _Weak. Nothing. Not him._ Trembling. His whole body started shaking from the way his heart pounded and his body dumped adrenaline into his blood system. Fight or flight, that's where he was - just throbbing, raw nerves and pure instinct. He was coming undone; everything he was tore itself from reality and floated, unattached and spinning out of control. Terrified amber eyes darted around the room, looking for something to focus on, something to ground him and pull him out of this spiral he was falling into.

They focused on one of the snapshots he'd dropped onto the table. Him but not him. A better version of him. Impossibly happy, healthy, strong… Maker help him, this whole year he'd thought he was getting there. He thought he was close to being that man again, but this was hard evidence to the contrary.

_He doesn't exist any more. He's not real. He'll never be real. I will never be him. I can't reach him. I can't. I can't. All of this, everything, is an illusion. Fake. Pretending to be ok and going through the motions when I know it's not real. When I know it doesn’t matter._

His mind was working overtime as those golden eyes stayed fixed on that picture, one image of many that served to underline his failure, his delusion that things could ever truly be better and that he’d reclaim himself one day. It was bleak and absolute proof. He didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

He sat completely motionless as his heart locked and his mind snapped, fixated on that image of happiness that brought him so much horror, heavy and hateful. Cruel. It was cruel to remind him of what he'd been. It was cruel to send him that message from the past, from his dead wife, that he should keep trying when it was so fucking impossible. He was _always_ going to fail, that was clear now. A joke, really, that he'd even tried.

_Who am I? If not him, who am I?_

He didn't know how long he sat there, silent and still as the stone, eyes unblinking and watering. That question dominated his mind, it was all he could think, all he could see, all he was.

_Who am I?_

Stumbling, he rose from the couch.

_Who am I?_

He tripped and caught himself against the frame of the bedroom door.

_Who am I?_

He closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned against the sink, looking at the man who looked back at him.

_Who is he? I don't recognize this man. Who is he, with his scared eyes and twisted, scarred mouth? Who is he with his mess of hair and pale face and dark circles under his eyes? That's not me. That can't be me. That's not who I am. I'm not scared. Cullen Rutherford isn't scared. That's not Cullen Rutherford. Not me. Not me. Not me._

The chorus of _notmenotmenotme_ filled his head, ringing in his ears as pale hands picked up the scissors Dorian used to trim his mustache. The silver blade glinted with the lights from above the mirror. Transfixed, he stared at those shining blades for a while, just breathing. _Notmenotmenotme._ He wasn't thinking. _He_ wasn't there any more. He watched as the man in the mirror lifted those scissors and grabbed a chunk of unruly hair.

Snip.

Golden curls fell into the sink.

_Yes. Yes. I'll make him me._

Snip.

Another handful of hair joined the first.

_I'll make him me and I'll be better._

A wide smile formed on his face. Too wide. It didn't reach his eyes. They were wide and rolling as

Snip

More hair fell.

Snip.

More.

Snip.

_Moremoremoremorenotenoughthisisn’tenough._

Snip.

It took a long time, that transformation. When he was done, he surveyed his work. Patchy. Uneven. Careless.

Wrong.

_That's who you are. You're wrong. You're a mistake. You're not Cullen Rutherford, you're a fucking mistake._

Anger then, blind and strong and desperate, and he felt his fist hit the mirror. Heard it shatter. Saw the blood rising on his knuckles. He barked out a single, choked laugh.

It was funny, this terrible joke he'd been playing on himself this whole time. Hilarious that the Maker saw fit to give him hope when there was none. Another laugh escaped those lips, and now he couldn't stop. He laughed and laughed at the shards of the man in the broken mirror who thought he could be better. He laughed at the very idea of that man being anything more than nothing.

That laughter twisted, turning into sobs that strangled and ripped through him. He collapsed to his knees, hands gripping the edge of the sink in a white knuckled grip, heaving and screaming out his pain. Reduced to nothing more than hurt and sorrow and the want for _nothing._ To feel nothing. To be nothing. Nothing didn't hurt. Nothing didn't have to try. No one cared about nothing.

_Nothing._ He heard the voice from his dream hissing in his head, but now instead of fear, he felt the siren song of that idea pulling at him.

His mind settled into emptiness as those sobs dwindled and eventually ceased, leaving a hollowed out shell where _Cullen_ had been. A heavy sense of calm descended over him. He knew what he needed. He knew where to go. Mechanically, he rose and made his way to the front room and walked out the door, only taking with him what he had in his pockets.

He was on his way. On his way to get the one thing he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, would make him truly nothing again.

\-----

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).
> 
> It begins.


	26. Backslide [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is lost and Dorian reaches out for help from Cullen's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags. If you get triggered by needles or drug use, there are no hard feelings if you walk. None.

The morning had felt like an eternity. It wasn’t like a hangover eternity, or waiting on an answer to an email eternity, or even an entire department meeting kind of eternity. This was a soul crushing kind of slowness that made Dorian _mean_ and antsy and jittery. He’d snapped at Ritts upon getting into the office, which he never did, and when Josephine had spoken to him, he’d bristled. Actively. This... this wasn’t good. Josie, bless her, only questioned lightly, and Dorian answered with as much as he dared about what was going on. He’d said Cullen wasn’t doing very well, nothing more, and she gave him leave to take the afternoon off. That was a small miracle, though it didn’t make the rest of the morning go by any faster.

He’d pushed down the urge to call Cullen at ten. The phone was in his hands and ready, but Dorian didn’t. Not yet. Maker knew, if he was actually going to go to bed, that he probably only just fell asleep. Waking him wouldn’t help. So Dorian sat on it until he couldn’t anymore, and as he was gathering up his things to leave he sent a quick message-

_[Send Message: Cullen (12:05PM)]: Heading home now. Josie gave me the rest of the day off. hope u managed to sleep a bit. love u xox_

The train ride home wasn’t fast enough. The walk up the stairs wasn’t fast enough. And when he opened the door to the flat everything felt so... still. It was strange. Dorian looked around, tried to gauge what was giving him that eerie feeling, and licked his lips as he closed the door. Everything looked the same as it had when he left, save for Cullen not being in the kitchen. The bedroom, perhaps? Probably. He was probably sleeping like he said he would be. That would make sense. That was probably why it felt so still and quiet.

Dorian quickly made his way to the bedroom, if only to check and make sure Cullen was alright, but... the bed was empty. It hadn’t even been disturbed from when Dorian had gotten out of it before. His heart started to pound. This wasn’t right. Maybe he’d gone out for something? Food? No, it didn’t feel right. Cullen had _promised_. He’d said he’d be there and he wasn’t and it made Dorian’s stomach drop to the floor.

“Andraste preserve me,” Dorian swore as he flicked on the light in the bathroom. It looked like... Maker, it looked like someone had been abducted. Broken glass was everywhere, and the mirror was completely smashed. There was... fuck, there was _blood_ smeared on the sink and counter, and chunks of blond hair _everywhere_. Dorian didn’t know what to make of it. He reached out slowly, picked up a blond curl that was most definitely Cullen’s, and held it in his hands.

_What the fuck happened?_

He pulled his phone out, dialed Cullen’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. He had to know. Where the hell was he, what happened, and... Maker, what was even going on? This was the kind of shit he expected from his own family. Surely Cullen’s wouldn’t send someone after him? Right?

Right?

\----

Samson's apartment. Cullen didn't remember the train ride there. He didn't see the looks he got - people gave the man with the dead eyes and bloody hand and haphazard hair and no coat in the winter plenty of room. Some brave soul asked if he was ok. He didn't even hear them. There was only the need to disappear, to dissolve into nothing. It drowned out everything else, even the journey to this shitty apartment on the wrong side of town.

He opened the door. The apartment was empty, but that hardly mattered. His feet took him directly to the bathroom where there would be some relief. He'd tucked it away months ago, just in case, and it was still there, waiting. Waiting for this moment like an old friend. Without thinking - Cullen was beyond thought - bloody fingers pulled that little packet out from where he'd hidden it. Powder. _Fuck._ Cullen never liked the stuff you snorted, but that was Samson's poison, and he couldn't be picky. Not now. It was ok. Just a little time added between now and nothing, so he took that baggie into the kitchen, ripped a strip of paper from an old envelope and rolled it into a tube. There. The bag was opened, the powder arranged into a thin line with a knife and Cullen hovered over the counter, ready, when he felt something buzzing in his pocket.

His phone. Someone was calling. Someone was trying to stop this, this thing he needed.

“Fuck it,” he growled, and with one sharp and quick inhale through the nose and his makeshift straw, that thin line was gone.

And so was he.

\----

The first day Dorian was a wreck. Or, rather, the rest of that first day Dorian was a wreck. He called Cullen’s phone every hour on the hour and texted him... Maker only knew, really, how many times. He wasn’t sure what to do. Did he call Garrett? Did he try the landline at Samson’s apartment? Though, really, Dorian had a vague idea of how that would play out considering everything. Should he call the police? Should he go out on foot and _search_? Would it be better to stay just in case Cullen came back?

He had no idea. So he tried Cullen’s phone over and over again, as many times as he could, and just... waited. If the morning had been long, then this was torture. His phone never left his hand, and he checked it probably every thirty seconds. What could he do? If he called the police, then it would probably cause more problems than solve them, but Dorian had seen what Cullen looked like when he left and odds were good they’d have a better chance at finding him. Maybe. Dorian didn’t know how all that worked.

_You left. You let this happen. What the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?_

He shouldn’t have gone. It had been three hours, more or less, and all this had happened because he’d stupidly thought giving Cullen some space might help. Why had he let himself walk out? Why hadn’t he just grabbed Cullen, gone back to bed, and stayed with him until he was ready? He’d _promised_ to be there for him. Dorian had _promised,_ and now he’d gone back on it, and there was a good chance that was why the other man had left. He could only imagine the vicious things Cullen would say - _“Work is more important to you.”, “You knew I was hurting and you LEFT!”, “You swore you’d be there for me and you just fucking walked away.”_

His gaze dropped to the coffee table where the stack of pictures and the rest of everything Cullen’s sister had sent were thrown down. Dorian bent to pick them up and flicked through them. Any other time his heart would have melted for the sight of those pictures, to see Cullen so happy, but now it just made him feel sicker.

Maker, what had he done?

\----

Coming down. He was coming down and it was dark and he was still alone in Samson's apartment. He'd been… just gone for a few blissful hours, but now he was coming down. And those voices! Thoughts that had quieted almost as soon as he breathed in his release were coming back. They were quiet now as he descended, but he knew, he _knew_ they'd be deafening again, and soon.

_More_ , he thought. _More. I need more. And not the shit Samson has. Mine. I need mine._

There was precious little of what Samson had given him left, but there was _some_ , so he snorted that back to buy him time as his footsteps took him out of that apartment and deeper into the Void. Back to his old place. Back to where he could get what he needed, of only he paid the price.

And he would. Anything. Any price for the thing that made everything else just go away.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Again and again. It was relentless as moved farther into the area of the city reserved for the downtrodden and desperate - Darktown, they called it, and with good reason. Full of dark deeds and desires. Just the place for someone who wanted to disappear.

Again, his phone buzzed. It was a fucking nuisance. Distracting. Keeping him from focusing on his purpose. He had a mind to toss the fucker down an alley and keep walking, but something held him back. He took it out and looked at the screen. Messages. So many messages.

_Dorian_

And for a moment, his steps slowed and his knees went weak and his blood turned to water. What was he doing? What would Dorian think of him?

_It doesn't fucking matter. Now move, before everything comes back. Move._

Right. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Only the need. So he kept on. He ignored that awful buzzing reminder of what he was walking away from and kept walking into Darktown. Like it was home. Like he belonged there.

Because he did.

\----

He didn’t sleep. How could he sleep? He had to be awake in case Cullen sent him something or came back or called or _anything_. All-nighters weren’t his forte anymore, and that on top of the worry was making him a wreck. Dorian had to keep reminding himself, usually as a rise of panic started to wash over him, that this _wasn’t about him_. It wasn’t. It just wasn’t.

Except it was his fault. If he had been there for Cullen, if he’d been better, then Cullen wouldn’t just be gone. Like the last time Cullen had just walked out on him, it was his fault. He’d pushed him away somehow, even though he’d thought he was doing the right thing. Of course it wasn’t, though. Dorian knew his own ability to fuck things up royally, and it was at least something to know he was still batting a thousand on that much.

Oh, how he would have loved to be wrong.

Cullen had been gone a full day and a half, and Dorian just... sat on the couch. Like Cullen had done before, that entire night, and he just stared out at nothing. His eyes registered the photos on the coffee table, he saw the little art piece that had shaken Cullen so badly, and he saw the slightly crumpled piece of paper that Cullen had looked at for half a second before he’d thrown it down. He saw it all, tried to piece everything together, but he couldn’t. Not alone. He knew, knew it was to do with Ella and seeing all these things, but he didn’t _know_.

After a long moment he reached out and picked the piece of paper. A letter from Cullen’s sister. Had things played out differently, he would have told Cullen to write her back, even if it was something saying he wasn’t ready yet. He would have tried. He would have done anything to help that was within his very limited realm of ability. Of course he should have done more. He should have asked questions and not just let Cullen shut down. Why had he just sat there? Why?

_You’re weak and stupid. You can’t handle your own shit with your own family so you stayed out of this when he needed you the most. Now look what’s happened._

So what did he do?

Dorian took a sip of wine and looked down at his phone. He’d sent probably a hundred messages, maybe two hundred, and all of them just sat on the screen from his side of the message conversation. They’d gotten increasingly desperate, apologetic, and sometimes angry. If only Cullen would _talk_ to him. Even just something so he knew he was alive. Then he looked down at the page again and while he knew it wasn’t his business he couldn’t help but read the letter.

_Cullen,  
I’ve started this letter a million times and I never know what to say. It’s been so long and I can’t even tell you all the things I’ve wanted to say. Sometimes I want to be mad, sometimes I understand why you just stopped talking, and sometimes I just want to beg you to come home. We miss you. We need you.  I need you. I need my brother, but I told everyone you’d come back when you were ready and trying to make you would only make it worse. Except I thought it would only be a couple of months, not... years._

_I know we both said some pretty terrible things the last time we saw each other, but I love you and I want you to be okay. You weren’t okay and I was worried and I should have done more than just yell. I know the package and everything is pretty out of the blue, but I thought maybe this was the best way. Will and I were cleaning out some boxes at Mom and Dad's and we found these. You should have some of Ella with you, and I thought some of us might not be so bad? I don’t know._

_Please send me something so I know you’re at least okay. We worry. It’s not the same without my big brother around and you were always the only one who could get Rosie and Bran to stop arguing like they’re five again. I could use the back up since Rosie’s off in Orlais for school and Bran’s been back on the dating scene and you have no idea how much I do NOT want to hear the dirty details. I think he could use his big brother to talk to about it with. Mom and Dad send their love too. We did a party for their 37th anniversary because, you know Mom, she never wants to celebrate on an actual milestone. We all wished you could have been there, but I told them it’ll happen when it happens._

_I’m not giving up on you. I love you._

_So please write or call or... come visit, maybe? Or I could come see you? Whenever you’re ready. I just wanted you to know you’re still so important and I love you, Cullen._

_Love Always,  
Mia_

The bottom had a couple of phone numbers as well, and Dorian couldn’t help but wipe at his eyes and let out a choked sob. He wasn’t the only one who wanted Cullen to be okay. There was _proof_ right there in his hands. Maker help him, why wouldn’t Cullen read it? Why wouldn’t he see?

\----

He put the needle down and loosed the cuff. Maker, that was better. That was what he needed. Cullen sat back on a ratty couch in a shabby living room in a decrepit building full of addicts and pushers. His old place. He’d lost himself here many times before. More than he could count, mostly because he honestly couldn’t remember. He closed his eyes and let that high come. Again. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, he just knew he’d thrown everything in his wallet at the greasy smiling thing who said he had the good shit.

And it had been good. It lit up the pleasure center of his brain like fireworks in the night sky and drowned out every fucking thing until it was just him and those lights in the dark. Something was pawing at his side, grabbing at his shirt, but he paid it no mind.

“Hey honey,” an ingratiating voice called out. It was right beside him but far away at the same time. It was cutting into everything that was good right now, and Cullen frowned. “Share some of that with me, how ‘bout it? I can make it worth your while.” Fingers kneaded into his thigh, and Cullen’s frown deepened.

“Fuck off,” he growled as he felt himself lifting further above everything. That dose was really hitting now, and those fireworks were back. _Good. Good._

“Don’t be like that,” that voice returned. But Cullen was gone again, fully ascended into another high. The slimy thing pawing at him on that couch may as well have been on another planet. It was just Cullen and the dark and euphoric _nothing_.

\--- 

He’d spent a good portion of the night reading Mia’s letter and looking through the pictures. Dorian didn’t know what to do. Cullen had spent longer than this not talking to him before, but this didn’t feel right. He’d cleaned up the bathroom yesterday, had called the landlord about the mirror early that morning, but... he still had no idea. Who would he call? He couldn’t call Samson since he had a feeling Cullen’s roommate would be less than helpful, but... work. Yes, work. 

Cullen had spent pretty much all his time at work the last time. It wasn’t healthy, but it was a start. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

It took him a minute to hunt down the number to the studio, and another minute to be transferred, and the entire time Dorian nervously tapped his foot. Since coming home from work he’d tried not to drink too much too fast should he need his faculties, but he was slightly tipsy. Hopefully he wouldn’t come across like a desperate... something. He was, of course, but he didn’t want to sound like he was stalking an ex boyfriend. Showing up not too long ago was bad enough.

“This is Garrett Hawke.”

Dorian froze for a few seconds, just long enough to push his heart back down his throat, and took a breath, “Uh, hi, um...this is Dorian Pavus, and I was wondering if Cullen was there? I don’t need to talk to him right at this second, but I’ve been calling him and he hasn’t answered and I wanted to know if he made it into work.” 

“Hey, Dorian,” Garrett greeted, “no, he’s not here. He hasn’t been the last two days and I’ve tried calling him too. You don’t know where he is?”

He gulped, “Ah, no, I don’t. I was kind of hoping you had him. I haven’t seen him since the other morning and-”

“I’ll keep calling him, and I’ll have the others give him a ring too.”

“Thanks,” Dorian answered, “if I hear from him I’ll let you know. He’s going through a bit of a rough patch, and I’m a little worried.”

There was a hum on the other end of the line, “Yeah, let me know. I’ll call you if I see him too, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks again.” Dorian hung up. He felt numb. If Cullen wasn’t at work, which was his preferred way to deal with bad shit, then where the fuck _was_ he? Samson’s was the only other option, but Dorian wasn’t quite ready to go groveling to that son of a bitch yet. Should he get desperate, and he was getting there, he would. Until then, he’d deal with this with people who actually had Cullen’s best interests at heart.

Which... that was a good point. Dorian picked Mia’s letter back up again. He knew it by heart now, which was a bit sad considering it wasn’t _his,_ nor did Mia even know he existed. Cullen should have read it. He should have believed it. Dorian would have given a molar or two for a family that cared that much: enough to give him space but still love him. Maybe... no, not maybe. He needed help with this. He couldn’t sit there alone and let Cullen just be _gone_ and not tell someone. Even if they couldn’t do anything, then at least he had someone in his corner. Well, so long as Mia didn’t blame him for this. He’d never spoken to siblings before, ever, and he could only imagine what she might say.

Dorian quickly dialed one of the numbers on the bottom of the letter and waited. It wasn’t late, just past dinner time for most normal people, and he closed his eyes and said a quick prayer that someone would answer. Someone who could _help_ because he was out of ideas that didn’t involve the police at this point.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice. Not Mia.

“Hi, I’m looking for Mia. Is she available?” Dorian asked in his most business-like tone. The last thing he needed was this man, possibly a husband since the name on the envelope wasn’t Rutherford, thinking some random man was calling his wife. “I’m calling about a package she sent for her brother?”

There was a pause, “Sure, of course. Hang on a second.” After that, Dorian could hear a bit of muffled speaking and the sound of the phone changing hands. His free hand smoothed at his mustache as he waited, and winced when through the speaker he could hear the sharp sound of what was probably a child arguing about something in the background. Cullen was an uncle a few times over, it seemed. How long had it been since he’d seen those kids?

“Hello? This is Mia,” a slightly desperate sounding female voice on the other end of the line prompted, “you’re calling about Cullen?”

“Hi, Mia... um, heh, I don’t actually know what to say. My name’s Dorian Pavus and I’m... I’m Cullen’s boyfriend. I got your number from the letter you sent, I hope that’s okay.”

“No, it’s fine! That’s wonderful, just knowing he’s out there is better than, you know, worrying.”

“I get that,” Dorian agreed with a soft laugh, “and I’m sorry it’s not him calling. Actually, I’m sorry I have to call you like this at all because it’s not really my place, but I’m sort of in a bad spot and I think you might be the only one who can help me.”

“Maker, is everything alright? Is Cullen alright?”

Dorian took another breath, “I... don’t actually know. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days, and this isn’t the first time he’s kind of ducked out on me for a week or so. The last time it was because of a fight, but when I saw him last he just wasn’t...  _okay._ And I know it’s not your fault and you were just trying to send him something nice, but I think seeing those pictures and everything might have, I don’t know, stirred up a lot of things he’s been trying to keep down for a while.”

“So he’s not there?”

“No,” Dorian answered softly, “I don’t know where he is. I, uh, I came home from work, and it looks like maybe he had some sort of breakdown because the mirror in my bathroom was all shattered and he used a pair of my scissors to cut his hair, and I don’t... I’ve tried calling him a million times, tried calling his boss, but I don’t know what else to do.”

There was another long pause, then a choked kind of sound, “Um, alright. So... what, we call the police and put out a missing person report, you think?” Mia asked.

“I wanted to talk to you before I did that, but yeah, I think that’s the best option right now,” Dorian agreed, “and listen... I don’t know what happened before. He’s never told me, but you obviously care enough to send him something to try to get him back. I just want him to be okay too, and for him to have his family back, and whatever happened with seeing everything, I think it’s time we maybe stepped in and actually... you know, he needed space, but I think he needs more than just that now.”

“No, I agree,” Mia answered. She sounded teary. “I’ll, um, I’ll call my parents and let them know what’s going on.”

“I’ll call the police station and take care of that, then... I’ll call you back and let you know what we do next or if I hear anything from him. I can give you his number and you can try to call, but I’ve probably filled up his voicemail trying to get him to call me back.”

“That would be good. Um, I’ll get you my mobile number so we can chat without the phone waking the kids and so I’ll have it with me,” she agreed, and Dorian winced as he heard a stuttering breath, “Thank you, Dorian. I had no idea if I’d ever hear anything about him again. We had no idea if he was alright and just moved, or if he hated me because I threw him out of the house, or... Maker, if he was dead. We didn’t know.”

Dorian bit back tears of his own, “I completely understand,” he replied, “he’s been struggling, but the last few months things have started to get better. He’s got a good job and he’s been clean for over a year. I’m so proud of him. I don’t know if he has anything of Ella’s so maybe seeing it set something off, I’m not even going to try to explain it because I don’t know, but he’s... Cullen’s a good man. I think he just needs some help.”

Then came a sob and Dorian had to wipe at his eyes as well, “I’ll talk to you in a bit, then, and we’ll figure out where to go from here. Thank you again, Dorian, I can’t tell you... even with this news, I can’t tell you how happy I am that he’s okay and at least has someone looking out for him.”

_And a great fucking job of that, you did._

“Well, clearly I could have done a better job of that,” Dorian pointed out through his own little hiccups, “but I’ll call you soon.”

They traded various numbers then: Cullen’s, Mia’s mobile, Dorian’s mobile, everything they could use. When he hung up, despite knowing he needed to call the police now, Dorian curled in on himself and finally let out the tears that had been threatening since he’d come home to find Cullen gone.

\----

Coming down again. Again. The sound of breathing in his ear and he sat up. Someone collapsed against him while he slept. Probably the owner of that voice from before. Maybe. He didn't know. He didn't even know how long he'd been there. Cullen didn't measure time in days anymore; he only knew the ups and downs. Flashes of things that had happened since he got there were all he knew. Mostly, he just sat. Mostly, they _all_ just sat, though sometimes they'd float in and out. They didn't matter though. He remembered getting there. He remembered tossing all his cash away for his drug of choice and what he needed to deliver it into his body. He remembered shooting the last of what he'd bought into his veins.

Panic settled into him. His mind, sluggish before, geared up and hung on that. _Out. Out. I'm out. I can't be out. Can't be._ Followed closely by _More. How do I get more?_ Because he had to get more. He needed more. Without it, he'd have to be… he'd have to be _aware._ Aware of what he was - nothing - and what he'd done - unforgivable. _No. Not that. Anything. Anything but that._

Amber eyes blown out to nearly black with dilated pupils fought to focus, searching for the one he'd bought from before. Ah. There he was, still smiling. Still selling. Cullen rose from where he sat and stumbled across the room towards him. Shaking already. Scratching at his arm already. Sick. Sick already. He couldn't take much of this.

_Anything. Anything for it._

“You're back,” the smiling man observed, “Course, you never left, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes. More,” Cullen replied. “Please.”

“Manners!” the man barked a laugh, “So polite. You know the price.”

“I don't… I don't have any more money,” Cullen admitted as he dug dirty fingernails into his arm, “I'm good for it. I just don't have any on me right now.”

“Well, that _is_ unfortunate,” the man said, voice dripping with mock concern, but still smiling. Always smiling. “But I'm not cruel. What do you have on the way of… collateral?”

“Nothing,” Cullen answered and grit his teeth against the nausea that rose, “But I can… I can make it worth your while.” Some small part of him shuddered as he heard himself mirror words that had been said to him… earlier.

The smiling man gave him an appraising look. “I don't usually… that's just bad business… but I like you. Alright then. Come on.”

He got up and walked to the next room, turning to gesture for Cullen to follow. And Maker help him, he did. He followed.

If there even was a Maker.

\----

It had been almost a week. Dorian had been on the phone with the police as often as he could be before they’d told him they would call. It wasn’t good enough, but there wasn’t anything he could do. They did what they did and short of Dorian banging down Samson’s door, though he’d sent them there first, to get a list of places where they... Maker, Dorian hoped it wasn’t that. He hoped and prayed with all his heart that Cullen had just holed up in a crappy hotel room until he could get a handle on things, and that he wasn’t off... hurting himself. The thought of him doing that, especially because Dorian hadn’t fought harder to stay with him, made him sick. He’d been sick a lot these last few days. Sick and desperate and drunk and mean.

He and Mia had talked nightly. She shared little stories about Cullen, as did Dorian, and they talked about what the police said. There wasn’t much else to do, though. Still, it felt good to have someone to talk to about it all. Garrett called on occasion, asked how things were doing, but it wasn’t the same. Mostly Dorian just sat and tried to not think about what awful shit could have happened. Or was happening. He tried to be good, tried to remember his medication and to eat and to try to sleep, but he just... sat. Sat like Cullen had done. He turned the tv on but didn’t watch it, lay in bed but didn’t sleep, went to work but didn’t pay any attention. None of it mattered, not really. Until he knew what was going on, he was completely useless.

_“It’s my fault,” he’d told Mia over the phone, “I shouldn’t have gone to work and left him alone. If I hadn’t you’d be talking to him and not me.”_

_“It’s not your fault,” she answered, “how were you supposed to know this would happen? You were just trying to help.”_

_“And I walked out on him. How can you say you love someone and just walk out on them?”_

_Mia sighed, “This isn’t your fault, Dorian, okay? It’s no one’s fault. We’ll find him, and we’ll figure out a way to help him. It just might take a while.”_

He curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled around him while he tried to focus on whatever was playing in front of him. Dorian didn’t even recognize it. He was just lost in his own world: worried, sick, lonely. Selfishly he wished Cullen was there just so he could be made to feel better, but how fucked up was that? What happened when the thing you needed most to help stop the fear and anxiety was the thing that caused it? He didn’t know.

\----

“This is _it?_ ” Cullen asked as the man showed him what he’d just worked for.

“That’s it, beautiful. You want more, you bring me money,” smiling man replied dismissively.

“Fuck you. There should be more.”

“Bad business, remember? This was a courtesy because you’ve got a pretty mouth, but don’t expect it again,” he said with a cocked eyebrow, “Do you want it or not?”

Cullen _wanted_ to say no. He wanted to spit in that man’s smiling face and walk away. His shoulders dropped and he scratched absently at his forearm. The man's greasy smile grew broader as Cullen relented, “Yes, of course.”

“There you go. Take that to tide you over and go get actual money and come back for more. No hard feelings.”

And Cullen took it. He took it and used it and as he waited for the high to hit, he thought of what he’d just done. He thought of what he’d _been doing_ , and suddenly, he felt sick. Not the same sort of sick he’d felt earlier, not the sick that had driven him to do _that_ , but sick at heart. Sick in his soul. How could he have let this go on? He'd sunk so low. Could he get any lower? Something shifted and the thought _anything for what I need_ turned into _no more._ In the moments before his heart pumped that drug out and dumped it into his system, _Cullen_ came back and he had only one thought. Pure and like a child and insistent.

_I want to go home._

Even as the chemicals made his mind slow and foggy, he could only see home. Not Samson’s miserable apartment, but Dorian’s. Warmth. Curled up together. Laughing. Crying. Hurting. Loving. All of that. He was heartsick for all of that, but he’d walked out on it. Thrown it away because he was scared and selfish and stupid.

The drugs had taken hold by now, but that thought persisted. _Home. Home._ In a haze, he rose again. _I have to go home._ There was no room for anything else except that; his mind commanded _home_ and his feet followed suit. In a haze, he drifted towards that warmth, walking the streets and somehow finding his way to the train. Just to go. Just to get home.

He blinked, and there he was. Outside the door. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He rested his forehead against the door for a while, he didn’t know how long, he just knew that the door was cool and soothing and part of home. Finally, he gathered enough focus to lift a hand and knock.

_Dorian. Home. I’m home._

\----

It was late. It was late and Dorian was just stretched out on the couch, zoned out at the television, with his gaze focused on nothing in particular. He’d drank quite a bit before, after he’d gotten off the phone with Mia, so he was in that weird place that was half between sobering up and feeling sick and half being uncomfortably drunk. It wasn’t the pleasant kind. It wasn’t even the kind that mushed his thoughts into something foggy so he didn’t have to deal with them. It was just... unpleasant.

He jumped when he heard the knob jiggle, though he wasn’t even sure if he’d actually heard it, and frowned as he stared at the door through the darkness of the living room. The television was the only light on, and he couldn’t quite see if the knob jiggled again, so he sank back under the thought that maybe it had been a dream. Perhaps he’d dozed and-

_thunk_

Then a few beats of silence. Then... Maker, a _knock_? Dorian’s heart started to pound. He didn’t know what to do. If it was the cops they probably would have a bit more authority, unless that was their attempt at not waking the whole building, and Dorian wasn’t sure he wanted them to see him like this. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

_knock knock_

Okay. Not his imagination. Dorian swallowed hard and slowly got to his feet. He padded to the door, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top that he’d been lounging in all day, and quickly looked through the peephole. The light outside in the hallway didn’t give away much, and all he could make out was a shape just outside his circle of vision. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. That was dangerous. It wouldn’t be the first time some drunk husband had knocked on the wrong door, but... Maker, Dorian’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

Slowly he unlocked the door and pulled it open just a little so he could try to see into the hall, “Yes?” Better safe than sorry, after all.

\----

Cullen was so… reduced, so broken... that one word spoken in _that_ voice, it was like the heavens opened after a storm and the sun was out and warming him, inside and out. He hadn’t felt like this, hadn’t _felt anything,_ in Maker knew how long. It was dulled by what he’d poisoned himself with, but it was enough. Enough to bring hot tears to his eyes and a tremor to his voice as he managed to answer, “Dorian.” It was all he could do in his current state. It was a wonder he was there at all, but the pull of _home_ had been stronger than what flowed in his veins.

\----

Maker help him. He opened the door and just stared. Everything went quiet and white and still for a long moment as he took in the sight of Cullen leaning against the door looking like he did: beautiful curls cut off into a chunky... something, eyes bright and sick, pale, sickly. It was like when they had that fight, but this wasn’t just Cullen being tired. This was something altogether different, and Dorian knew by just the look and the... Maker, the smell.

“Andraste’s blood,” he murmured before he reached out to take Cullen’s face in his hands just to make sure he was actually there and this wasn’t some anxiety induced dream. Or nightmare. Both had happened. Dorian didn’t know what to do. Did he he get angry? Did he slap Cullen across the face for making him worry like that? Did he cry and thank the Maker that he was alright? Or did he just stand there and brush his fingers softly over hot, clammy skin and unevenly cropped hair. All those beautiful curls were just _gone,_ and with the way Cullen’s pupils were so wide and black, he hardly looked like himself.

Dorian took a shaking breath and wrapped his arms around Cullen’s shoulder to bring him closer. He didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. So he just held Cullen close, squeezed him as tightly as he could, and just tried to remember how to breathe.

\----

He was mostly _not there_ still, but the part of him that was, the part of him that had yearned for _home_ so strongly, rejoiced as arms pulled him in. It wondered why he'd left this in the first place - because he was afraid he'd never be some ideal of himself? It all seemed silly to the small slice of Cullen that was awake. He'd lost himself so thoroughly over _pictures_.

But those were just vague thoughts lost in the sea of lights and color and emotion that was the rest of Cullen's mind. He registered a foggy sense of happiness mixed with the bitterness of disappointment, but the prevalent emotion was just relief and release. Cullen's joints gave way in the face of that, and he leaned into Dorian for support as well as comfort. He didn't say anything, his mind couldn’t pull any words from the jumbled mess of emotion it was under the influence. He just let himself seek further warmth as he tucked his head under Dorian's jaw and his hands tangled in the fabric of Dorian's shirt. And breathed. For a while, that's all he could do. Just breathe.

\----

Dorian held Cullen for a long while before he finally pulled them back inside the flat and shut the door. Again he just pulled Cullen in close and rubbed his hands along the other man’s back before he sucked in a deep breath, rested his hands on Cullen’s shoulders. Even in the darkness Dorian could see that something wasn’t right. Cullen’s eyes weren’t right. He studied Cullen for a long moment, then sighed, “Come on,’ he prompted, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).
> 
> We hope you stick with us through the end. It's dark now. It's going to be dark for a while... but the dawn will come.


	27. Hard Choices [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian takes care of Cullen and Mia comes to help.

Even in the state he was - still up on that last high and barely present in his own mind - he couldn’t meet those grey eyes. His own eyes moved in slow circles, focusing on Dorian's chest or the floor or the couch - anywhere but Dorian's eyes. How could he? In a muddled way, he was happy to be there, but he also knew shame. A deep kind of shame he felt in his bones at what he'd done.

The words _get you cleaned up_ floated around his soupy mind, and he nodded. More than anything, that's what the piece of him that was still Cullen wanted. To be clean and _done_ with this shit and unashamed. Cullen nodded again and allowed Dorian to lead him.

\---

He got Cullen to the bathroom, which had been cleaned and repaired, and Dorian sighed as he flicked on the light and turned to get the shower going. Thank the Maker Cullen had clothes there, since it looked like it had been a couple of days since he’d last had a shower. After he got the water going, Dorian turned and studied Cullen under the much better light. He looked terrible. Worse than Dorian remembered. This was a side of Cullen he’d never seen, and one he didn’t want to see again.

“Out of those clothes,” he instructed as he started to get Cullen’s shirt off over his head, though he stopped when he saw how Cullen’s eyes were rolling. That...  _oh shit_. “Cullen?” Dorian prompted as he leaned in to look Cullen in the face, “what... what did you take?”

\---

The bathroom. He remembered being in here - it felt like years ago now, but he’d been in here. Reeling and angry and crying and laughing and losing himself. And now he was back, but he was still lost. He was lost even though he wasn’t. He was spinning away even though he was firmly on the ground. His heartbeat picked up and his vision went black around the edges and blurry. He was dizzy. Heavy.

And then Dorian asked him something. What had he taken? The question didn’t make sense to him. Wasn't it obvious? “All of it,” he finally replied thickly, slowly, as he held out his arm for Dorian to see the angry, red pricks that followed the veins on the inside of his forearm. “See?"

\---

The urge to be sick hit Dorian like a car and he actually choked a bit at the sight of... of...  _Maker, please. Anything but that_. Of course he’d known Cullen had used. They talked about it on occasion, but it had always been past tense. He knew the scars on the inside of his elbow were there, he’d seen them himself, but he’d never seen them raw and red and _fresh_. As he fought off that sick feeling, Dorian rested a hand on Cullen’s wrist to lower it and he looked pointedly away, “Yes, alright,” he choked out.

So Cullen was high. He’d figured that, but he wasn’t quite expecting to come face to face with the fact that he’d been jamming a needle into his arm for Maker only knew how many of the days he was gone. Dorian worked at getting Cullen out of those disgusting clothes, then got out of his own before he got them into the shower. Right now, he didn’t trust Cullen to be by himself with water and slippery surfaces. So he got them under the water, picked up one of the bars of soap and a washcloth, and set to getting Cullen as cleaned up as possible.

He avoided that raw and red part of Cullen’s arm as best he could, completely out of fear of touching it, and for the first time in a while he was glad for the loud spray of water so it covered the choked little sounds Dorian made as he tried his best not to burst into tears. The water covered how his eyes teared freely, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away, but he couldn’t quite let out the way he wanted to just... break down.

_You’re in over your head, Pavus. You drove him to do that and now you’re the one drowning. Pathetic._

\---

That spray of warm water felt _so good_. Better than it had any right to, and for a while, Cullen's whole world was just warmth and mist and water bouncing off beautiful bronze skin. Fascinated, he watched the droplets as they ran and collided into one another to make rivulets down Dorian's chest. Cullen felt heavy, so heavy, and he swayed under that weight as hands gently scrubbed over him. His own skin felt slick, and he drew his hand across his stomach, liking the feel of it. It was just so nice. So nice right now. He closed his eyes and let a sigh escape his lips as a slow smile spread. If he'd been truly aware, he'd have been mortified - so far gone someone else had to _bathe_ a week’s worth of filth off him - but he'd slipped back under for the comfort of that warm water and those hands moving over him, and nothing else mattered.

He opened his eyes and his attention settled on Dorian's mouth. It was twisting and frowning and sad. _Oh, no._ That wasn't right. This place was so nice. How could he be sad? It was warm and safe and wonderful. Why was he sad? Cullen raised his hands and rested them on either side of Dorian's neck. So lovely! Why was that mouth tugging down?

“Don't be sad,” he said in a small voice, drawing out the word sad longer than it should have been. “Don't be, ok?”

\---

_Just get through this. Get him cleaned up and into bed THEN have a panic attack._

“Let’s just get you into some clean clothes,” Dorian answered thickly before he tipped the shower head down to rinse off the last of the soap. He couldn’t handle this. His hands were shaking with the effort to _not_ freak out, and for a moment, he was genuinely unsure and scared of just how the fuck he was going to get them both out of the shower without one of them taking a tumble.

_This isn’t the first time you’ve had to haul around someone who’s been too fucked up to notice. Deal with it._

So Dorian turned off the shower and quickly got them both out and onto the drip mat so he could wrap a towel around Cullen. “There we go,” he soothed as he patted at Cullen’s face. His voice was shaking as much as his hands, and tears still rolled down his face without stopping. It wasn’t a breakdown just yet, but it was coming. He wiped at his face, sniffled, and tried to smile as he grabbed a towel for himself to wind around his waist.

\---

Still sad. Dorian was still sad. Cullen had said not to be, but water was running down smooth, dark skin, and they weren't in the shower any more. He shouldn't be sad. Cullen was having a hard time thinking, could barely string more than a few things together in his head above the high, but he knew nothing should ever make this beautiful man sad. Nothing.

_You dumb fuck. You're making him sad._

He shook his head to rid himself of that sharp voice. It had come out of nowhere and burned with anger, but he wasn't angry. He wasn't anything. He raised his hands again to cup Dorian's face and let his thumbs wipe tears away. “Stop. Don't cry,” Cullen said as his brows furrowed with the effort to translate his thoughts into words. Why shouldn't this man be crying? Why did Cullen feel so strongly that he shouldn't be sad? “You're nice, so stop.”

\---

Maker help him. Dorian’s stomach lurched hard, and it felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest for the effort to not just... break into a million pieces. He couldn’t, though, not while Cullen was awake. “Cullen, come on,” Dorian prompted as he caught both of the other man’s hands. What he wanted to do was let those touches soothe him. He wanted to believe Cullen really didn’t want him to be upset, and that it wasn’t some... Maker, he didn’t know, symptom of whatever the other man had taken making him like that.

He squeezed Cullen’s hands in his own for a moment before he led them to the bedroom and got Cullen settled on the bed. Dorian dug through the few clothes the other man had there, and settled on the pair of sweatpants he’d borrowed those first few times as well as something soft and long sleeved. That was partially to help keep him warm, since somewhere in his mind something told him that was important, but on a selfish level it was so he didn’t have to see that bruised, reddened, and inflamed skin at Cullen’s elbow. Dorian couldn’t handle that right now.

He helped get Cullen into those clothes, so he’d at least be comfortable, and when the job was done he sighed and pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. It was getting harder to keep it together. “Alright,” he managed after a long moment, and pulled back the blankets to tuck Cullen into his usual side of the bed, “think you can…” His voice broke for just a moment and he paused as he tried to get a handle on himself, “think you can get cozy while I get you something to drink? I’ll just be in the other room, okay?”

\---

Cullen just nodded, and Dorian seemed satisfied as he turned and left the room. That made Cullen happy. Happy that the other man had stopped crying. Obediently, he scooted farther down under the covers, closed his eyes, and let himself float above everything. Warm skin. Warm clothes. Warm bed. It was all so warm and soft here. He should have come here sooner, not stayed in that dark place with those awful people.

_I shouldn't have left here._

A moment of clarity that interrupted the comfortable floating feeling, and he scowled. No room for that here. Just floating and drifting and…

And Cullen was asleep, gone before Dorian even came back. It had been a long time since he'd last slept - really slept - and his tired mind couldn't remember ever feeling this _nice **.**_ This safe. This _warm._

\---

When he’d come back with a glass of water, Dorian just sighed and pulled the blankets up around Cullen before he bent to kiss his temple. Angry and hurt as he wanted to be, and _oh,_ how he was, he couldn’t just... leave Cullen like that. So he ruffled what was left of those curls and kissed him again before he grabbed his phone and left Cullen in the bedroom with the door cracked. It was like having a child in the house or... Maker, if this was what people did with partners who were sick.

_He IS sick. You made him that way. Now call in some help before you make it worse._

First he dialed the police station to tell them to cancel the missing person’s report and that everything was, well, not great, but handled. They were nice enough about it and offered more help should he need it, which Dorian thanked them for. He might very well need it. The next call was... well, it was harder. It was hard because it was late and Dorian felt guilty, but also because he wasn’t sure he could say the actual words. That said, Mia had told him to call the minute he knew something, and this definitely qualified, even at two in the morning.

The phone rang a few times, and just as Dorian was about to start planning out his voicemail a sleepy voice answered. Mia. Of course Mia. “Dorian?” she asked, “It’s late.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to wake you,” he began before he took a breath. His voice was soft, only just above a whisper despite the fact that Cullen would probably sleep for a long while without any trouble, and shaking a little. “But Cullen... he showed back up tonight. He’s with me.”

There was a pause and then a _whoosh_ of a long sigh, “Maker be praised,” Mia replied, “is he alright? Did he say where he was?”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to pause and he squeezed the phone a bit more tightly, “He didn’t really have to,” he answered, “he’s... high as a kite. I don’t even think he knows he’s with me. And he had track marks in his arm. Fresh ones.”

“Shit."

“Yeah,” Dorian agreed, “I don’t... I know it’s terrible for me to ask, but I don’t know that I can do this on my own. Do you think you could come up? You’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need to.”

“Sure, of course,” Mia answered immediately, “Will’s home anyway so that’s alright. I’ll be there in a little while.”

“Be safe, alright? I’ll man the fort until you get here.”

That earned him a little laugh from her, “Thanks, Dorian. I’ll see you in a while.”

When they hung up, Dorian went back to the bedroom door to look in. Cullen was still completely out of it, hadn’t heard a thing, and as he watched Dorian couldn’t help how tears started to fall down his face again. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he didn’t have anything to occupy his attention now. All he had to do was wait for Mia to get there. It was overwhelming.

_She’s going to see what you did to him. Then she’ll hate you. They both will._

He slid down the wall just outside the doorway until his knees were up against his chest, and _finally_ Dorian let out the sob that he’d been holding in since he’d opened the door. It had been a long time since he felt this powerless, this guilty, and it was something he’d never wanted to feel again. He’d failed Cullen so spectacularly and this was the price they both had to pay for it. Cullen had spent days doing Maker only knew what, and all Dorian had done was sit at home and feel sorry for himself. What kind of person _did_ that? Now Cullen was back, and he couldn’t even take care of him alone.

He was weak and pathetic. Stupid. His parents had been right. If he were better this wouldn’t have happened. If he were better he could have stopped it.

The panic washed over him then, and Dorian sucked in quick breaths to just... keep himself alive. He curled in on himself, buried his face in his knees, and tried to just _not exist_ and _not think_ and _not be Dorian Pavus_ until it passed.

\---

Mia pressed end on her phone and clutched it to her chest as she allowed herself a moment, just one quiet moment to send thanks up to the Maker. Cullen was in a rough spot by Dorian's account, but he was _alive._ He was whole, and she would see him soon. Maker, she'd see her _big_ _brother_ again. A tear rolled down her cheek, running a warm path down until it hit her pillow, and she raised a hand to wipe it away. There would be time for that later. Right now, Dorian needed her. Cullen needed her, whether he knew it or not, and there wasn't a force in all of Thedas that would keep her from him now that she knew that.

She rolled over onto her side and gently woke her husband.

“Will. Will, honey, wake up,” she prodded.

“Wha,” he started, groggy and reluctant. He opened his eyes and something about Mia's face must have alarmed him, because he was suddenly alert. “What is it? Is it the kids?” He was already moving to get up.

“No, honey, stay in bed,” she said, smiling at his immediate reaction. “Dorian just called. Cullen’s come back. He's back, but he needs help. I'm going into town… to be there, you know… the last time we…”

Will relaxed and moved to kiss her forehead. “I know, Mia. Go. The kids and I’ll be fine.”

Everything after that was a blur of pulling on jeans and grabbing clothes and a toothbrush and raking everything that seemed like she'd need it into an overnight bag. When the hasty packing was done, she kissed her husband goodbye, went out to their car, and set her gps to Dorian's address. She was on her way. She was on her way and, Maker damn it, she'd make this time _count._ She wouldn't lose him again.

Sheer force of will kept her from speeding the whole way there… mostly. She concentrated on the road rather than letting her mind run away with her. It wouldn't do for her to get in an accident, not now. Not when she was so close.

She pulled into the parking garage for the address Doran had given her. The trip hadn't taken long, 20 minutes at most, but it felt like forever. She shouldered her bag and approached the door. Dorian had texted her the code so the buzzer wouldn't wake Cullen, and she smiled that he was so thoughtful, despite how scared he sounded on the phone. She thanked the Maker again that Cullen had found someone to care for him, and prayed this wouldn't scare him away. She'd grown rather fond of him, despite the circumstances.

Finally at Dorian's front door, she rolled her shoulders, closed her eyes for a moment, and then knocked.

\---

Dorian had stayed on the floor for about ten minutes before he finally pulled himself together enough to get dressed into something that didn’t look like he’d been drinking on the couch for days. The wine glasses were... well, it wasn’t the prettiest picture, but he got them into the sink and promptly put on some coffee. Having something to do with his hands was good.

He checked in on Cullen a couple of times, made sure he was still breathing and everything, and kissed at his unevenly cropped hair before he left. He’d also taken the time to put away the pictures on the coffee table from the package as well as hide away his medicine. Just in case. By the time he heard that soft knock, he felt alright, not great, and at least like he wasn’t about to sink into some sort of episode immediately. It took him a moment to steel himself before he padded over to the door and opened it. It would have been no one but Mia at this hour, after all.

The woman standing in the doorway looked exactly as Dorian had pictured and he offered a small, slightly scared smile, “You made it,” Dorian greeted as he stepped aside to let her in, “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I didn’t think you wanted to wait until morning.”

\---

The man who answered the door was… well, Cullen had never had a _type_ per se, but he wasn’t what Mia had expected. He was disheveled and tired; his eyes were red and just a tad puffy, but he was still striking. She’d known he wasn’t from Ferelden, his accent had given him away of course, but he was so far from it she couldn’t help but smile a little. She tried to imagine her big, _painfully_ Fereldan brother stumbling over himself around the man before her, and that smile grew just a bit more.

She moved inside and turned as Dorian closed the door quietly. She’d developed a sense of kinship over the past week with this man she only just met, bonding over a shared sense of urgency for Cullen’s safety, and her heart went out to him even as her own was under the same strain.

“No, you did the right thing. Thank you,” she replied and moved to give him a quick hug. For all the talking they did, she barely knew him, really, but she wanted him to know she was there, and not just for Cullen. “How is he? How are you?”

\---

That hug was a surprise, but certainly not unwelcome. After this past week, Dorian could have definitely used one, and he hugged Mia back for just a moment longer before he stepped away and held out a hand for her coat. “He’s asleep for now,” Dorian answered, “like I said before, I don’t even know if he knew it was me or that he’s here. He was just floating, so…” Once he’d put Mia’s coat away, he gestured to the couch, “Make yourself at home. Or, um... he’s in the bedroom if you want to go check on him. I can pour us some coffee in the meantime.”

He didn’t want to discuss how _he_ was doing. Dorian was barely holding it together at this point and analysing it would only fray at the edges more. “I got him in the shower and in bed first thing, and it seems like he’ll probably sleep for a while. He didn’t even move when I went in a bit ago.”

\---

“I… yes, I’d like to look in on him, if that’s ok,” she replied immediately. She had to see him with her own eyes, _had to_. “Where’s the bedroom?” She followed Dorian farther into the apartment and dropped her bag by the bedroom door as he went off, presumably to make coffee. She watched him for a moment, grateful again that he was there for Cullen during this, before turning her attention to the door. She laid a hand against the cool wood and took a moment to gather herself. Cullen was just inside, her brother - finally. Finally. She took a shaky breath and pushed that door open.

The room was dark, but she could make out a bed, and off to one side of that bed was a large form, curled up under thick blankets. She could hear the inhale and exhale of someone in deep sleep, and she took the few steps to the side of the bed. In the dim light, she could see the outline of his jaw and the way the light caught his hair and Maker that was _him_. Finally him, after all this time, after the way they’d ended things, he was _right there in front of her_. She fell to her knees beside the bed and blinked back hot tears as her throat clenched. Her heart felt like it was going to leap right out of her chest as she reached a tentative hand out to gently stroke his hair. Years. It had been years, and now here he was.

“Thank the Maker, Andraste, and anyone else up there answering prayers,” she murmured. This time, this time she wasn’t going to let him leave. Never again would she watch him walk away, not knowing when he’d be coming back. She stayed in there for a while, just watching him breathe as he slept, convincing herself that this was really happening. After so many years, she’d wondered… well, her past fears aside, he was there. Sick, yes, but _there._

“I love you, big brother. It’s about time I told you that,” she smiled as she pressed a kiss against his temple and stood. “The hard part’s coming, but I’ll be here when you wake up and I won’t leave you again. No matter what. I promise.”

She walked back out into the living room, wiping her eyes as she pulled the door to behind her. “Maker’s breath,” she said to Dorian, “We’d always _hoped_ … but hope was running thin. That’s really him in there.”

\---

While Mia stayed with Cullen for a bit, Dorian poured them each a mug of coffee and set to... well, cleaning up a few of the wine glasses so it didn’t look quite so bad. He dried his hands as she came back out and offered a small smile, “Well, he doesn’t look _quite_ like the man I’ve been seeing for this long, but I’d like to think I’d know him anywhere.” It was a small attempt at levity, considering how Mia’s eyes were wet and red.

He pushed off the counter and went to pull Cullen’s sister into a hug. Dorian wasn’t the type for it usually, not really, but he’d only been dealing with this for a week. Mia had been worrying about Cullen’s whereabouts for _years_. “It’s going to be okay,” Dorian promised her, “I think between the two of us we can get this sorted out. If anything, I can play distraction and you can be the muscle.”

\---

Mia let herself be pulled into that hug. It had been a _long_ road. A lot of late nights worrying. Too many family dinners with a seat that had stood vacant. She couldn’t help the tears that fell as she rested her head against Dorian’s chest. She couldn’t help but squeeze him back before she pulled away, torn between the happiness of having Cullen back and the sadness of knowing the circumstances.

And the circumstances weren’t great. If Cullen was sleeping off a high like Dorian said…

“We both may need to be the muscle,” she said, voice turning serious, “I don’t… I don’t want to scare you, but I also don’t want you to be… unprepared. I’ve been through this before… and it isn’t going to be pretty when he wakes up.”

\---

“I had a feeling,” Dorian agreed with a nod and held out one of the mugs to her, “that’s why I called now. I could... hardly get him in and out of the shower by myself, and he’s not even come down yet. I didn’t want to think about what it would be like tomorrow or whenever he’s actually lucid.” He took a breath then and sighed, “I have some friends who did some more casual stuff at Uni, mostly pills or whatever, but nothing like this. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

It had been bad enough with Cullen gone, but the seriousness on Mia’s face really didn’t make him feel that much better for Cullen being back either. Then again, there were two of them now. That was something. “We’ll handle it,” Dorian told her, “but if there’s anything I ought to know, I want to. He’s never… er, he’s never hurt you or anything, has he? Just so I’m aware?”

\---

She considered him for a moment. She didn’t know his friends, and maybe she was being unfair, but rich kids popping pills in college didn’t even compare. Not even close. She sighed and gestured to one of the mugs of coffee. Dorian nodded, and she picked it up to take a sip. It was bitter and strong and just the way she needed it right now.

“No,” she finally answered, “He’s never hurt more than my feelings, but he has hurt himself. And my walls.” Her eyes cut to the side as she took another drink from her mug. “Many times. The point is, he’s going to wake up in pain. And it’s going to be hard to watch, but as hard as it’ll be for us, it’ll be a thousand times worse for him.”

Her mind cast back to the times she’d waited nervously for him to wake up after he’d been gone for days, just to see who was going to come out of the bedroom he’d moved into. She was never sure in those days. “Sometimes, he’s angry - he yells and can get… nasty, sometimes he cries and it breaks your heart… but every time, he’s really only thinking of trying to get more into his system.” She took a moment to make sure she made eye contact with Dorian, “So just remember that. Whatever he does, whatever he says, that’s _not him._ That’s _it_ talking. That shit he put into himself. Do you understand me? It won’t be him, not at first. Remember that.”

\---

He took a deep breath and considered all of that. The pills Rilienus and the others would take on occasion certainly had nothing on this. Not at all. Back when he’d asked Cullen to make this a relationship, he’d never even thought that it might include something like this. Dorian had, perhaps stupidly, thought that was behind him. He should have known better. This was deeper water than he’d ever expected to have to navigate in a relationship of any kind, and for a moment his mind asked that terrible question: _are you willing to deal with this?_

_Yes._

The answer came before the question even finished, and Dorian’s chest ached for a moment. It was a rough situation, one he’d never been through before, but he’d do it. He’d do whatever he had to if it meant getting Cullen not only back to normal but possibly _better_. “I’ll take my cues from you, then,” Dorian told her, “I’ve, um... I take medicine, and I’ve put all that away already just in case. While he’s sleeping it off, feel free to have a look around and if there’s anything else that needs to get moved around then I’ll take care of it.”

Grey eyes studied Mia for a long moment, and he lifted a hand to smooth at his mustache, “I’ve never... this is all new to me, but I’ll do whatever I need to if it’ll help him. And you. Whatever you guys need, let me know.”

\---

Mia relaxed then and squeezed his shoulder. She hadn't wanted to scare him, but she also didn't want to gloss any of this over. She didn't want him slack jawed and hurting when Cullen woke up like… however he was going to wake up this time. “That's good. I didn't that first time - put the medicine away - and I learned the hard way.” She smiled then, sad but hopeful, and continued, “You're a good man, to take him in when he showed up at your doorstep the way he did.” Her mouth twitched and her voice went tight, “He's a good man, too, Maker help him, he just got lost along the way.” She took a moment to compose herself. For all this, her brother _was_ a good man. But he needed help. He needed more than she could give him, more than Dorian could give him - even if he stayed after this, and she wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't. “This will pass. It won't feel like it, but it will. And then we'll figure it out, ok?”

\---

“No, I know he is,” Dorian agreed with a nod, “I... I love him, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I know he can come back from it. I think now it’s just a matter of having some actual _good_ influences instead of not.” Cullen had never said as much, but he had a sinking feeling Samson and Maddox weren’t the best ones to go to in midst of trying to get sober. Caring as Samson was about Cullen’s well-being, and Dorian knew he did or he wouldn’t have reamed Dorian out like he’d done before, Cullen needed people who weren’t going to take advantage while still trying to be there.

“Here,” he began again as he set the mug down and pulled his phone out from his pocket. Dorian unlocked it, smiling at the picture of the two of them pressed in close. He’d looked at that picture a million times since all this had happened and wondered _where_ that man was. It seemed like they were going to have to do some legwork to find him again, but Dorian was hopeful. Quickly, he scrolled through a few things, then held the phone phone out to Mia as a video started to play:

_“What are you doing?” asked Cullen’s voice with a laugh as a pair of pale hands fussed with a pair of tongs in a giant bowl of salad._

_“Nothing. Just filming the pilot for your cooking special. People love this kind of thing,” was Dorian’s reply, and the video lifted upward quickly to show Cullen, mess of curls pulled up into a bun and a grin on his face. “Tell me about the salad. Sell it to me.”_

_“You’re ridiculous.”_

_“Oh, come on!”_

_Cullen sighed and shook his head before he gestured to the bowl, “Well, I bought a bag of Spring Mix and cut up some carrot and cucumber because that’s what we like. And then I’m going to put mushrooms and red pepper in unless - hey!”_

_The camera cut around to Dorian, hair half mussed and a huge grin on his face as he bit into a red pepper slice, “I’m taste testing!”_

_Cullen’s face appeared next to Dorian’s and nuzzled in at the closely cropped hair near his ear, “Alright, moocher.”_

_“Strong words there, pal,” Dorian teased back, though they were both still looking into the camera._

_“Why are you filming this again?” Cullen asked._

_“Because I like watching you,” Dorian replied before the camera lowered to the bowl again._

The screen went black after that and Dorian just shrugged, “We’ll figure it out,” he told her, “I’m... one hundred percent sure we will. I know he’s in there, and we’ll do whatever we have to so he can be healthy again. Healthier than even since I’ve known him.”

\---

As she watched that video, she raised a hand to her mouth and smiled, delighted, behind it as tears welled up in her eyes. She could have kissed Dorian, both for the words he’d said and what he just showed her. She’d gone this whole time thinking maybe Cullen hadn’t changed. Dorian had said he’d been clean, yes, but that wasn’t what she meant. The drugs were a fix - a shitty one - for a deeper problem. She’d been worried that he’d gone on being sad and guilty and alone. Fighting for nothing in a world where no one was fighting with him. She remembered how hollow his eyes had been after Ella, how flat they were even during the brief periods of sobriety before he’d left, and it had killed her thinking that’s how he carried on this whole time. When Dorian told her he’d showed up at the door high, she’d thought that proof, and it had broken her heart.

But this… what Dorian had just showed her was _her brother_ , maybe not as she remembered him exactly, but still him. His eyes were bright and alive. His eyes were _happy_ , and oh, how her heart ached in the best way for that. He hadn’t been sad this whole time. He hadn’t been alone. He’d had good, real good, in his life again, and she smiled wide and laughed as tears fell. The man in front of her, the man she barely knew, became something like family in that moment as she realized that Dorian would stick with him - scared as he was, she could tell he was resolute. _He_ would be the one to fight with Cullen as he made his way to the other side of this.

“He will be,” she finally replied as she gave his arm a squeeze. “He’s got people fighting for him… whether he likes it or not,” she said with a little chuckle as she wiped her eyes. “Do you have any more of those? Or pictures? I’d… I’d like to hear more about how he was… before. If you don’t mind.”

\---

“Sure,” he answered, and gestured over to the couch, “we might as well get comfortable. I doubt he’ll be up for a while.” Dorian picked up his coffee and steadily flicked through his pictures. More than anything, he didn’t want Mia coming across any, er, _private_ ones. There were a few more _tasteful_ ones of Cullen sleeping that Dorian had taken, which didn’t show much beyond an expanse of chest or back. That should be alright, right? Thankfully, Dorian had the sense to move the more intimate in nature into another album, usually because of this reason, should Sera grab his phone, and he held it back out to Mia, “there’s plenty in there. Look as long as you want.”

There had been so many tears today. That had to account for something, right? If they both cared this much then they’d manage to help him? That was the hope, anyway. As they settled on the couch Dorian sipped his coffee and offered Mia a smile, “So will you tell me about what he was like when he was younger, then?” he asked, “I looked at the pictures. He was a stunner from the beginning.”

\---

Mia sat on the couch, Dorian’s phone in hand, and kicked off her shoes before she tucked her feet under her. Her smile grew wider each time she swiped the screen to see a new picture. “Well, usually when I describe my brother, I start with ‘You know, Cullen. He’s always so serious,’ but Maker, some of these pictures. How did you get him to agree to… just about any of these?” She kept flipping through the album Dorian had pulled up for her. There were so many - some sweet, some ridiculous, some quiet and surprisingly thoughtful, but they all showed happiness, in one shape or the other.

She swiped again and her breath caught. It was a simple picture, just Cullen playing his guitar, but it was one of those rare snapshots that came out perfectly framed and lit out of pure serendipity. And that look on his face, that was just so _Cullen_ it was like the years in between had never happened. “Dorian, this one is _so good_ ,” she breathed as she held the phone out to him, “Do you think you could send it to me? Mom and Dad would love to see it.”

\---

 “Of course,” he answered with a nod, “and I’ve found that a reasonable amount of pouting will get me anything I want, but... for some of these, he wasn’t exactly paying attention.” Dorian smiled when he looked at that picture and sighed happily. “He practices here a lot. From what I know about his roommates, they’re not the best to be around, so I’m glad to let him be here to work or to sleep or whatever.”

Dorian smiled at her and took another sip from his coffee, “He’s been trying really hard,” he told her, “he got a great job and he’s been doing really well at it. He loves it. And, you know, it hasn’t been easy between us. There’s been a _lot_ of shit, but I love him and I want to see him better. And with his family. He deserves to have you guys around him because you love him, even if he doesn’t believe it.”

\---

Now that the initial rush and flurry of learning that Cullen was back and all the emotion that came with that was under control, Mia had a million questions. _What kind of job? Is he teaching again? What kind of shit and can I help? Does he still do that thing where he eats only one thing at a time? Oh, does he still make his shepherd's pie?_ But they all faded and hung on her tongue with Dorian's last statement.

_… even if he doesn't believe it_

That gave her pause and pricked at her heart. “He doesn't think… we love him?”

\---

Shit. He was tired and his mouth wasn’t working right. “No, I’m sure he does,” Dorian answered, “he’s just... scared, I think. He said he was. That he’d done terrible things and waited too long, and... I know he knows you love him.” With a sigh, he reached out to pat Mia’s hand, and offered her a small smile to hopefully ease her a little. “I don’t know a lot of the details, but he’s been carrying around a lot of guilt. I think on some level, he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved, and we both know that’s not true,” he went on as he tried to think back to, well, a lot of conversations, “I think part of the reason he was so scared to talk to you was because he knows you love him and... I don’t know, it’s hard to believe it when you don’t love yourself very much, and I think that’s part of it. Not that I’m qualified to judge or anything, though.”

\---

“Ah,” she replied, “So he did the Cullen thing and overthought it.”

So she hadn’t been too far off the mark. He _was_ still shouldering all that guilt he’d been burdened with the last time she saw him years ago. He’d held on to the thing that drove him to that dark place and kept him there, even as he hated himself for it. But still, _something_ had drawn him out enough to keep him clean, keep him trying in spite of it all. Mia was pretty sure she was talking to a big part of that something right now - Dorian was part of that something, surely, if all those pictures were any indication. In any case, _she_ hadn’t seen Cullen’s face so alive and present since before the accident. Things had taken a turn for the better, it seemed… and now this.

“He’s always been one to… internalize, I guess you’d call it. He’d get quiet, and you could _see_ him thinking by the way his forehead creased and he bit the inside of his cheek,” she took a breath and shrugged. “Once, you could say it was a strength. He reasoned things out instead of reacting, you know. Level-headed.” She gave a weak chuckle before continuing, “He kept Bran and Rosie in line somehow without raising his voice… or not often, anyway.” Her voice dropped a bit and she met Dorian’s eyes, “But after Ella, he disappeared entirely inside himself. He couldn’t, I don’t know, _reason_ through that, so he just never came back out. Not once, really, before I finally kicked him out.” She lifted a hand to run through her hair and kept on, “And then he starts to do better and I send him those pictures and that quote of Ella’s like an idiot, and it starts all over. What was I thinking? I’m so sorry.”

\---

He shook his head and took a drink from his coffee. “No, don’t apologize,” Dorian told her. Maker only knew if _she_ was apologizing then what _he_ had to apologize for. “I think whatever set him off was probably hiding in there and just looking for a reason to come out,” he explained, “whether it was the package or something I said, I think it would have happened regardless. I mean, it would have been nice not to get to this point, but I don’t think it was anything out of the blue, if you want me to be honest with you.” It felt terrible to say, like he was betraying Cullen somehow, but... Dorian believed it. If Mia hadn’t sent that, then how long would it be before they had another fight and it set off whatever it was inside Cullen that made this happen.

“We had to have a talk not too long ago, and he mentioned the fact that he has trouble letting things go,” Dorian mused, “I told him I’d listen and help however I could, but I don’t think it’s enough. I wish it was, and it’s a great sentiment, but I can’t compete with this. Even if it hadn’t been the pictures or any of that.”

\---

“No, I know… on some level at least… that I didn’t cause this. But Maker, I hate to be the trigger,” she replied as she drank from her mug again. The coffee was cooling, but it still had the bite she needed to keep her focused - to try and avoid feeling so damn guilty herself. “But you’re right,” she went on, “This is… this is more than we could hope to deal with ourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen and Mia).


	28. Hard Choices [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which confessions are made and Cullen asks for help.

Dorian and Mia talked for a while, but as the sun started to come up, the need for sleep seemed to hit them both full force. He got her settled on the couch and he took his side of the bed for the few hours that he could manage. All the while, Cullen didn’t even stir. Dorian didn’t move too much or touch him, just out of fear that he’d wake before he was ready, but he lay there in bed just watching him until he finally dozed off.

It was late morning when he woke again, far too soon after falling asleep, but he couldn’t stay in bed. Cullen had rolled onto his back and scooted closer since the last time Dorian had opened his eyes, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to stay in bed and watch him sleep. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but for how pale and sweaty Cullen looked... he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

So he got up, checked on Mia, and puttered around on the laptop for a while. There was a stack of things from work he’d been avoiding in all his worry, so there was plenty to do, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his and Mia’s talks the night before. There was a nervousness that made him look over at the bedroom door every few minutes. Mia had said that the man that came out of that room wasn’t going to be _his_ Cullen, and while Dorian believed that he’d be there for the other man no matter what he was... scared. What if he couldn’t stomach _this_ Cullen?

Mia woke not long after Dorian did, and they elected to sit with coffee and a few pieces of toast between them. They were both tired, that much was obvious, and less talkative than they were before. Both of them, Dorian noted, kept glancing back toward the door, and after a while, Dorian got up to clear their plates and refill mugs just so he’d have something to do.

He washed dishes, she took a shower, he took a shower, they put something on the television, and they both half ignored it. The waiting game was torture. On some level, Dorian wanted Cullen to just get up so they could get on with this, but there was another part of him that hoped he slept for the rest of the day so that he could have more time to prepare himself.

As if the week hadn’t been long enough.

\---

PAIN AND NEED

Cullen woke up in a cold sweat, and those were the only things he thought as he lay there, balled up and twitching and _hurting_. Maker, he hurt. He didn’t remember where he was, what he’d done. He barely knew who he was. There was only pain, white hot and exploding behind closed eyes. He shivered and shook, despite the covers pulled up around him, and he clutched at them like his life depended on it.

FUCKFUCKITHURTSFUCK

He thought to go to the smiling man again. Maybe he could be persuaded. Cullen could do it. Yes, he could convince him. He’d have to give up more of himself this time, but that was fine. The only thing that meant anything was just more. More. To end this pain. Make it stop.

He opened his eyes, seeking out that man again.

_Where am I?_

He wasn’t in that building any more. He wasn’t on that nasty, beat up couch. He was in a bed. A nice bed in a nice bedroom.

_Where?_

_Home,_ came the answer. Now, he vaguely remembered he’d left that place. Why had he left? There was nothing here in this dim room. No chance of relief. Nothing. He whimpered through chattering teeth and tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he rolled onto his back. Even that movement upset him, though, and he felt the nausea roll through him. He clenched his teeth and rolled right back over onto his side as he fought that bile down. Just to take his mind off that pain, he set it to figuring out just where he was.

The room was familiar. It felt familiar. It _smelled_ familiar. It smelled like citrus and spice and comfort and warmth. _Ah. Dorian’s. That’s right._ He’d stumbled through the city for… he didn’t know how long. His journey from there to here was just lights and sound and the desire to go somewhere _better_. And before that, he’d been at _that_ place where he bought what he’d needed to cancel out all the pain. But he’d run out, hadn’t he? He’d run out and then he’d….

The feeling of that greasy, smiling man’s hands on the back of his head. Pushing and pulling, fingers tangled in what was left of his hair and a bitter taste going down and _Oh, Maker please take me now take me to the Void and leave me there where I belong._

The nausea resurged, and there was no fighting it back this time. He barely made it to the toilet, sick and dizzy as he was, before hot acid came rushing out of him. He heaved for Maker knew how long as he gripped cool porcelain, shaking and sobbing in between and wishing he could forget. He forgot almost everything else, why couldn’t he just _fucking forget_ that? Disgusting. Vile. Pathetic that he was reduced to that after only a few days. Or had it been weeks? Maker, it didn’t matter if it was _fucking years_. He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have been in that place to begin with.

He was appalled with himself, but he laughed as his cheek rested against the edge of the toilet. He laughed because he _knew_. He knew that the largest part of him _wanted to go back._

Anything was better than this pain… and he knew this was hardly the worst of it. There was more coming. There would be much more if he didn’t get…

_Something. Anything. I need something for this..._

He pulled himself up on aching, shaking legs and his wide eyes searched the bathroom, skirting over the counters and seeking out the pill bottles that were normally there. They wouldn’t be much, but they’d curb this crackling pain until he could think straight enough to go get what his body was really crying out for. A plaintive whine escaped his throat when he saw… nothing. The space on the counter where those bottles usually sat was empty. _Gone. They’re gone. They should BE here. They’re always RIGHT FUCKING HERE. Where the fuck are they?_

“FUCK,” he cried out. “FUCK,” he yelled again as he brought his fist down on the stone countertop. “Where are they?”

The kitchen. Sometimes Dorian kept his meds in the kitchen. His nose was running - _already? -_ and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt as he stumbled from the bathroom to the bedroom door. He pulled it open and made a few jerky steps towards the kitchen before that dizziness caught up with him and he fell to his knees. Stars exploded and the edges went black and pain shot from the soles of his feet up through his spine to drive an ice pick into his brain. “Maker, help me,” he whined softly as he curled into a ball on the ground.

\---

The sound of something thumping in the bathroom made both Dorian and Mia turn to look. Mia looked... haunted. Scared. Dorian felt his heartbeat pick up and in less than two seconds, it felt like his ribs might crack under the pressure. That meant Cullen was awake. He and Mia shared a cautious look. Now the question was to go and check on him or leave him to it. Dorian didn’t know. He’d never been the type to want to be coddled when he was ill, not really, and he wasn’t sure if going in there might stir Cullen up even more.

He jumped at the sound of Cullen shouting, felt it all the way through him, and he gripped hard at the arm of the couch. Never in the time he’d known the other man had he heard him raise his voice, and it wasn’t something he ever wanted to hear again. Mia had been right. _His_ Cullen wouldn’t do that. _His_ Cullen would probably have stayed in bed and curled into Dorian should he have gone in there to check on him. The man in there, the one shouting curses, wasn’t _his_ Cullen.

And then the door opened and the sight was... well, Dorian felt ill almost immediately. He cast a glance over at Mia, who had gone still and closed her eyes. Bracing herself, Dorian realized, and he did much the same. Then Cullen was toppling over and Dorian squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to watch it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t watch the man he loved stumble around like that.

“Dorian,” Mia prompted softly, but he held up a hand and opened his eyes to look at her. Already hers, the ones that were so like Cullen’s, looked red and like she was ready to cry again.

He lifted a hand and patted her knee, “It’s okay,” Dorian told her, “I got it. Can you get a glass of water for him? Cups are in the cabinet by the sink."

Dorian took a breath and held it for a moment before he got to his feet and walked over to the Cullen-shaped lump on the floor. Immediately, his heart leapt up into his mouth as he just... stared for a moment. Cullen looked pathetic. There wasn’t another word for it. Were this some flu or cold or, Maker help them, anything else that was just a sickness, he would have thought the same. He looked like Felix did when his symptoms flared, which was almost comforting, but the rational part of him couldn’t fall back to that. Dorian wanted to, wanted to treat it like Cullen had caught something like he had that day when he’d given him the coffee the first time, but that’s not what this was. This was something else.

So he took a seat on the floor, cross legged, and reached out a hand to gently brush the few longer strands that were left of Cullen’s hair away from the back of his neck. His skin was hot and clammy like he had a fever, and Dorian sighed. “Hey,” he greeted the other man gently, “can you hear me?”

\---

He felt rather than saw the figure settling in beside him, and in Cullen's state of pain and panic, he thought it the Ella-demon from his dream come to drag him with it to the Void like he'd asked. Terror then, he knew terror as that shape beside him shifted and he felt its fingers _on him._ His skin burned on the back of his neck where they touched, leaving him shuddering in fear.

And then that voice came. _Can you hear me?_ It said through the haze of panic and fear and pain. _Can you hear me?_ It said in that nightmare demon's voice, and Cullen's eyes rolled as he twitched away from that touch. He wanted to run, escape, but his body wasn't listening to him and all he could do was shake and pull away and pray. _Maker, not like this._ _Please. Please. I know I'm bad, but please no._

 _Look_ , something told him, and he groaned. He didn't want to. He knew what he'd see, and he didn't think he’d survive it. _Look._ It insisted again, and it took everything in him just to turn his head as amber eyes blown black with dilated pupils settled on it… on…

_Dorian._

It was just… Dorian. No nightmare demon come to make him pay for what he'd done. Just Dorian, but Maker, this was almost as bad. Those beautiful, haunted eyes pierced him with the concern and worry he didn't deserve. He groaned again and turned back, relaxing for just moment before those tremors of pain gripped him again. They'd been forgotten in his fear, but now they surged back and he cried out, wordless and pleading, and then husked, “.... pills. Your Maker damned _pills_. Where? I fucking…” and he clenched his teeth as his legs kicked in pain of their own accord. “ _need them.”_

\---

And, just like that, it felt like he’d been punched. For a brief moment, while he’d waited for Cullen to answer, he’d hoped that there would be that miraculous instant where the other man would look up at him and be calm and feel better. Safer. Not…

_He doesn’t want ME._

It stung. It stung a lot. But Mia had said that whatever came out of his mouth for a while was just going to be him wanting something to help the pain or to get something in his system that was like what he’d been taking. That was going to have to be his mantra. Under all of it, he knew _his_ Cullen would never ask him that. _His_ Cullen wouldn’t ever demand Dorian give him his prescriptions. That Cullen was in there, somewhere, and while _this_ one made Dorian feel like he wasn’t worth anything more than what he could give, he had to believe that the real Cullen would never want him to give him that.

“I can’t give them to you,” he answered softly and slowly raked his fingers through Cullen’s hair, “you know that.” Dorian took another breath and held it before he traced his fingers down to Cullen’s jaw to try to coax him to relax, “can you tell me where you are? So I know you’re with me?”

\---

Another groan of pain escaped Cullen's chest as he clutched his stomach and, oh, those fingers on him blazed trails of fire across oversensitive skin. _Stoptouchingstoptouching_. He garnered the strength he needed to finally roll away, on his other side now and facing Dorian, though he wouldn’t look at him. “Doesn't fucking _matter_ where I am,” he grunted, “you won't help me.”

 _You shouldn't talk to him like that_ , a voice spoke up - the same voice that had urged him to look earlier. And why shouldn't he talk to him like that? He could help Cullen right now. It was in his power. Easy, to go fetch a pill - just _one fucking pill_ \- and bring it to him so he wouldn't hurt so much.

_Because he loves you, that's why._

_Fuck that, if he loved me… if he really loved me…_

“If you loved me, you would help.”

 _You shouldn't talk to him like that._ And that voice was sad, but Cullen didn't care.

\---

“I love you, and I’m doing the best I can,” Dorian stated. The more comforting tone was gone from his voice and his expression twisted into something decidedly more angry. He knew that wasn’t Cullen talking. That was the part of him that needed something to make these withdrawals go away. Dorian knew that. But it didn’t make hearing something like that from Cullen’s mouth any easier.

Mia had appeared with the glass of water by then, and he took it with a nod before he set it down on the floor a bit outside of Cullen’s hands, “Now, you have two options: have some of this to drink and go back to bed where it’s more comfortable, or you can keep insulting me and stay on the floor. Pick one.”

Coddling wasn’t going to work if Cullen was going to be an asshole. Again, he knew it wasn’t _Cullen_ , but chasing after him and placating with kind words wasn’t going to make this easier. This part of Cullen wasn’t going to be soothed by kind words. And if he was going to be nasty then Dorian wasn’t going to sit there and try to make him feel better.

\---

His stomach clenched, cramped painfully, and Cullen doubled up on himself as he pounded the floor with the side of his fist. “One _fucking pill! One._ ”

_I’m going to die. This is killing me and he’s just watching. He’s just watching me die._

_He’s not. He’s helping. This is helping. You won’t die. You lived through this before, remember?_

But that was long ago and far away and this pain was very present and very now. He didn’t remember, he didn’t care to remember, how he’d survived the last time. It wasn’t relevant. What was relevant was the howling hurt that raged through him and the fact that Dorian wasn’t helping.

_He is._

\---

Dorian took another breath and looked up at where Mia was standing and watching with her arms folded. She looked every bit the Mom in this situation, and Dorian was relieved to have her there. He wouldn’t have been able to do this by himself. Whatever Cullen said, whatever Cullen did, she’d seen it before. She would know. If he was in real trouble, she’d say something. He could do this.

“No.”

The word was simple and final.

“Are you going to stay on the floor like that, or are you going to have some water?” Dorian asked, “if you drink something, I’ll get you back into bed.”

\---

A whimper escaped his lips at that one word. _No_. Dorian wasn’t moving. He wasn’t going to give him what he needed. He wouldn’t get that here, it was clear. He had to go. He had to go back. Even though Dorian could help him, he wouldn’t, and Cullen had to go. Anger, raw and red, flashed and lit up his beaten and bruised mind. It took over and drove him to move again. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, “I’m not going to _bed_.” Shaking hands gripped the side of the couch and pulled so he was standing, unsteady and leaning against the couch for support. His sights were set for the door. “If you won’t fucking help me…” he panted from the effort it took to stand, “I’ll help myself.”

He took a shaky step towards the front door. He didn’t have any shoes on. He was wearing sweatpants and a just a shirt, and he was fully intent on leaving.

_Don’t. You know better._

_Fuck you. Shut up._

\---

“Cullen Rutherford, you stop _right now_ ,” Mia hissed as she stalked over to where Cullen was shakily leaning against the couch, “you’ve had _enough_ , and so have we. So _sit down_!”

Suddenly, Dorian was very glad to not be one of Mia’s kids. Well, no, he was sure she loved them very much and only broke out that tone for major problems, but he knew for a fact he didn’t want to be on receiving end of it. Still, he was thankful for her presence there. The only thing he could think to do to keep Cullen from going anywhere was tackle him and drag him to the bedroom. In this state, and the fact that Cullen was bigger than him, there was no way that would probably work out well.

Mia pointed to the couch again, “You sit down and you have some water, and you do _not_ talk to Dorian like that. Do you hear me?”

\---

Cullen froze. _That voice._ For one moment, all those pangs and shakes and cramping muscles just stopped. Everything stopped and Cullen was back in another living room years ago, in much the same state, and he could hear a little girl crying in the distance, and he saw _her_ face, Mia’s face twisted in sadness and pain, and he heard that voice telling him to _get out, Cullen. Just go. You’re not welcome here any more. I don’t want to see your face._

The bottom fell out and reality doubled back on itself, time twisting out of time as everything he was just melted and ran, heavy, to his feet. His mouth snapped closed and his eyes dropped as his blood ran cold and his feet took him, silently, around to the front of the couch. That voice had commanded him to _go_ once, and he’d obeyed. Now it commanded him _sit_ , and again, he obeyed. He sat on the couch and buried his face in his hands with his elbows digging into his knees.

It was almost funny. This was the very thing he was afraid of, wasn’t it? He could remember that much now, the feeling that he’d never be good enough to show his face to her again - her or the rest of the family - but now she was here while he was _this_ again. Compared to the quivering, bristling bag of bones he’d become, the man who’d stopped by Samson’s that day however long ago and picked up that alarming package had been a fucking god. It was all relative, it seemed.

The shock of hearing Mia’s voice, however disturbing, had cut through the pain and the need. It pulled his mind away from it and peeled back the layers of base meanness. The little internal voice that had urged him earlier to back down, to understand, it was given room to breathe.

_You can stop this._

For now, at least, _Cullen_ was back, but that was almost as painful as the withdrawal. 

“What am I doing? Maker, what have I done?” his voice was a whisper.

\---

Mia took a breath and went to sit on the arm of the couch, “You’re coming down again,” she told him, and lifted her gaze as Dorian rounded the couch to set the water on the coffee table so Cullen could get it. “Do you know where you are?”

\---

The heels of his palms rubbed rough circles against itching, watery eyes, and Cullen nodded slowly without raising his head. “Dorian’s,” he answered thickly. He was already struggling again, battling with that awful version of himself that was just so angry and out of control. The pain and need were still there and gaining ground again, but Cullen fought to remain above it, to hold on to himself and not dissolve into it like he had been before Mia’s voice brought him out of himself.

_Mia._

Mia was here. Of course she was here. He didn’t even question it, just accepted it and let his mind move on. “How long?” he croaked, but he could answer that question himself, more or less, if he cared to count the pricks on his forearm and do the math. That thought only served to increase the nausea that had settled in his stomach, though, so he preferred to just ask.

\---

“Six days,” Dorian answered softly, “you came back last night.”

He took his spot on Cullen’s other side, sat just a bit closer than Mia was, and tipped his head down so he could look at where Cullen was rubbing his face, “but you’re back now, and you’re not going anywhere. Alright?”

\---

_Six days._

Cullen groaned and drew his knees up into his chest, hugging his legs and burying his face as far down as he could. It helped the pain to curl up like this, but right now, he was hiding in shame. Six days. That’s all it took for him to hit the bottom. That’s all it took before…

He was despicable. He was low. He was worthless, and yet these two _good_ people were here, surrounding him. It didn’t make sense to him, but then again, they didn’t know. They didn’t know how he really was, how far he’d gone. They wouldn’t be here if they did, surely, and he’d be alone. Maybe they’d be better off that way. All he seemed to do was hurt the people around him. All he seemed to do was _take._

And that train of thought ignited the urge to go back. To leave them to pick up the pieces of their lives and move on to better things without him while he moved on into oblivion. It would be fitting. It would be what he deserved now.

He grit his teeth. _No. That’s not what I want._

But he could feel his body start to twitch again and his stomach rolling and he wondered if it even mattered what he wanted.

“You should just… let me go,” he said through clenched teeth, “You’d both be better off.”

\---

“Don’t even start with that,” Dorian told him sharply, “I love you, you know I love you, and I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t hear any more on the matter.” He scooted a little bit closer then, “I’m going to put a hand on your back now,” he explained, and reached out to rest a hand between Cullen’s shoulder blades where he often kissed when he was rubbing Cullen’s back, “neither of us are going anywhere, whether you want us to or not.”

What he wanted to do was pull Cullen in close and hug him tightly. What he wanted was for that hug to ease the pain and anger and aches so Cullen would just curl up and relax. What he wanted was for their love for one another to make it better. It was a stupid notion, one that came from too many movies, but this kind of moment felt more like he was in a movie than living it himself.

\---

“Why?” he asked, voice flat and quiet. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. How could either of them look at him now that he was this and say those words? Didn’t they know he was rotten? Couldn’t they see the vein of corruption that ran cracks through him? He was _bad_ , plain as the scar on his face, but they _loved_ him? Dorian _loved_ him? It was asinine. Ridiculous. They were holding on to some thin hope that he could be more than this quivering mass of flesh he’d become. They were asking too much of him. Far too much. It wasn’t fair. He was right - they’d be better off.

“ _Why?_ ” he repeated, and felt anger rising again. It wasn’t the out of control kind of anger he’d lashed out with earlier. He was still himself - barely, but he was himself and he was angry. He stood and took a few steps away from the couch, that anger holding his aching body together as he turned to face them. “Haven’t you been paying attention?” His hands flew from his sides and thunder rumbled from his chest. “This _is me_. This is what I fucking am. This is,” and that thunder cracked and broke as his shoulders slumped and his hands dropped to his sides, “... all I’ll ever be. To hope for more is… it’s just a joke.”

\---

Dorian got to his feet and followed Cullen around the couch. He didn’t say anything, didn’t argue, but instead he just pulled the other man into him and wrapped his arms around Cullen’s shoulders. This was still the sickness and what was in his system (or the lack of it anyway) talking. This wasn’t Cullen. Still, Dorian wasn’t going to let him stand there and talk like that.

He held Cullen close, squeezed him tighter when he tried to wiggle out of that hold, and just... held him. Dorian tucked the other man’s head under his chin and just hugged him as tightly as he dared for as long as he could. Fuck the withdrawals. Fuck Cullen’s anger or sadness. Dorian had spent six days worrying himself completely sick and, Maker be damned, he was going to hold Cullen until _he_ felt like letting go.

\---

Still, Dorian pressed. Cullen had to make him see. He had to make him understand. He had to make both of them understand.

“Let go,” he demanded, pushing away. “You don't… you don't _know_. You don't know what I've done. I _broke_. I broke and I knew I was breaking and I _made_ you leave just so I could keep on breaking without you stopping it,” he met Dorian's eyes for just a moment. They were flashing with an odd mixture of anger and sadness and love, and Cullen deserved none of those things from him. He was beneath consideration and he knew it. Dorian just didn’t yet.

“I forced you out, I said whatever it was I thought you needed to hear to get you to go because I _wanted this._ And I went to Samson's and I took what he had and I then went _there_ to inject every bit of money I had on me into my veins. And I loved it. I _fucking loved it._ Being nothing. No pain. No shit. Just _nothing,_ ” he laughed, a cruel sound, full of bitterness. “But that's not all, no. Far from it. I had to _keep_ being nothing, but I was out. No more. No money. And do you know what I did then? Do you know what the _man you love_ did?” He looked over to where Mia sat on the couch, “Do you know what your precious brother did?”

His attention shifted back to Dorian and his fingers began to dig viciously at his forearm in agitation. Dorian had to know. They both had to know so they could be free of him. Hate him. Move on without him and without guilt. “He got on his fucking knees on a dirty floor with someone's cock in his mouth and _worked_ for it,” he admitted. He framed it as horribly as he could on purpose, and his voice broke as he did. A strangled breath that was more like a sob he couldn't hold back rolled out of him before he picked up steam to finish. “ _That's_ what I am. _Now_ say you love me. Now say it, and fucking mean it if you can.” His voice was fury, but his eyes… his eyes were pleading and desperate and full of tears and part of him cried out _please don't give up on me I love you too._

\---

Not Cullen. That wasn’t Cullen. Mia had said that wasn’t Cullen talking. Whatever he said, it was only meant to get a reaction and to get more of whatever he’d put in his system. Dorian had to trust that. Whatever this was...  _his_ Cullen wouldn’t hurt him like that. More than that, if it was the truth, he knew _his_ Cullen wouldn’t speak so meanly about it. It was like Dorian’s anger after Rilienus, the anger at himself and the situation that made him take it out like that. That’s what this was. The Cullen he knew, the Cullen he loved, wouldn’t hurt him on purpose. He’d bring it up and talk about it rationally.

Mia’s face had gone tense in those few moments that Dorian had taken to get a handle on himself. She frowned, glared up at Cullen for that outburst, and opened her mouth to speak but Dorian cut her off, “We love you no matter what the fuck you get up to when you’re high out of your Maker damned mind, you idiot!” Dorian hissed before he reached out to grab Cullen by the chin so he forced the other man to look at him. “Look at me, Cullen,” he demanded, “fucking look at me. I’m telling you right now, alright? I love you. Whatever happened, whatever you’ve done? Yes, it might be terrible, but I won’t ever love you any less. And neither will your sister, so _stop_ acting like a toddler and trying to throw a Maker damned tantrum at us!”

\---

Everything was still as Cullen just breathed and took all that in. _He knows and he loves me anyway._ That thought was choking and aching, and he felt a pang that had nothing to do with withdrawal or exhaustion. He’d assumed, he’d always assumed there was a _limit_ , that Dorian’s love had a finite capacity. He’d assumed that if Dorian truly knew how bad it could get, that limit would be reached and he’d be gone. Cullen was seeing now, finally understanding, that when Dorian said he loved him, just how fully he meant it. He didn’t love him just on good days, or only for as long as Cullen was strong and healthy. It wasn’t fairweather affection, it was… it was all the time, even in the midst of this hurricane. 

 _Unconditional_ was the word that came to mind and he was shamed. He was shamed for what he'd done, yes, but now he was shamed that he'd put limits on what Dorian was capable of. Every step of the way, regardless of how headlong Cullen had flung himself into it, Dorian had waited until he was _sure_ , until he knew he meant it, before moving. And this, Cullen realized, was no different. Dorian had said it that night when things were so bad and Cullen had confessed his feelings, he'd said that he'd thought it - love - but had waited until he knew he meant it. And when he did say it, it wasn't, as Cullen suspected, because his hand had been forced. It was genuine, just as it was now. Just as it was now even though he _knew._

The anger left, and in its absence, Cullen felt heavy and loose and like maybe he would fall apart. He blinked as he swayed, and the tears that had threatened as he told his story finally spilled over golden lashes. Dorian wasn't going to leave him. Cullen wasn't alone. He’d had that thought before, but now the difference was that he _actually_ _believed_ it. It was truth, and his body went boneless as he realized that simple fact. His arms wrapped around Dorian, just as ardently as Dorian had held him before, and he buried his face in the curve between Dorian's neck and shoulder as those tears came in earnest.

“I'm sorry,” he said as his body shook and his voice trembled. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Those words, he said them over and over again, but they weren't enough. Not nearly enough, yet they were all he had. He hoped Dorian understood.

\---

As Cullen sank against him Dorian lifted his gaze to meet Mia’s. She looked resolute, and just shook her head for the sight of it all. Nice as it was, and it _was_ , he was taking his cues from her, and if this was something she’d seen before, then he needed to maybe not drop his guard completely just because Cullen hugged him. Of course he _wanted_ to. He wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and tell him everything would be okay, but platitudes like that didn’t really work considering what had just come out of Cullen’s mouth.

 _He sucked another man’s cock for drugs and you’re hugging him like it’s okay_.

That, all that could be addressed later. Now wasn’t the time for a discussion about the tenuous nature of their relationship, considering the fact that it seemed like Cullen could only hold onto one emotion or train of thought at once. Let him deal with this first, let them all deal with this first, and then they could settle the nuances. Getting up in arms right now would likely just make everyone frustrated.

“Shh,” Dorian soothed against Cullen’s temple, “I’ve got you now. We’ll figure it out, alright?”

\---

Heavy. He felt so heavy. Now that the rush of anger had washed over and out of him, it took everything in him to remain standing, and Cullen leaned into Dorian for comfort and support. He didn’t want to end up on the floor again, though as the anger cleared out of Cullen’s mind, it left room to remember the pain. And he _was_ hurting. He felt it in every bone, every joint, every muscle - the knowledge that this was nothing compared to what it would be tonight, tomorrow, the next day coaxed a whine from him. Days of this. There would be days upon days of this pain if he didn’t find something to…

_No. No more._

He cut himself off before his mind spooled up, before it could work itself into the crazed state Mia had snapped him out of earlier. _No more,_ he told himself again, even as he felt the nausea rising and his mouth go dry.

But he’d told himself that much before, hadn’t he? He’d made it through this pain before out of sheer force of will. He’d been clean. He’d turned it around. He’d done it alone. But here he was.

He pulled away from Dorian, still not really meeting his eyes, and just said, “Couch… please,” as his jaw worked. Dorian had to help him the few steps it took to get there, had to help him ease down into his seat. He couldn’t even do something as simple as _sitting down_ alone, not now. What made him think he could tackle something as large as… everything alone? He needed something more. He needed… he needed… 

“... I need help,” he finally admitted, and that was almost as hard as what he’d said earlier. It was scarier, in any case, and his nerves jittered at the thought of… of _rehab_ and _therapy_ … but he’d tried it on his own and failed. He pulled his knees up to his chest to help ease the pain in his stomach and hugged his legs again. “It _hurts_ …. so damn much… and I’m tired. So tired. I need help.”

\---

Mia’s eyes widened in surprise, which was a look Dorian hadn’t seen yet. He kept quiet, kept running his hand over Cullen’s back so the other man knew he was there, and just kept his gaze between the two of them. This talk, this kind of thing, was a complete blind spot for him. Dorian had no idea how or where or what to do, and he was more than content to let Mia take over.

“We can get you help,” Mia answered with a nod and moved to rest her hand on Cullen’s knee, “we can definitely do that.” She smiled, tears in her eyes, and sniffled a little before she turned back to Cullen, “I’m proud of you, brother. I really am.”

Dorian looked between them again and leaned forward to press a kiss against Cullen’s shoulder. He’d never said anything to that degree before since Dorian had known him. It always seemed like he was resolute in dealing with it himself, but maybe admitting he needed that bit of help was a good thing? Mia certainly looked like it was. “Me too,” he offered, “and... we’ll get you whatever help you need, alright? I’ll make sure of it.”

\---

“Thank you. Both of you,” Cullen replied, then squeezed his eyes shut against another wall of pain. He waited until it passed, until he could catch his breath again. When it passed, he realized he’d started scratching at himself absently, dragging his fingernails roughly over his arms. He knew that he’d soon be twitching again, that the itch he felt in his arms would spread over everywhere. And then, the pain would get _worse_ and he could very well lose himself again. Probably would, actually.

“I don’t,” he started, “I don’t know anywhere to go. But I have to. I have to. Before this gets… worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian and Mia) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	29. Hard Choices [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a choice is made and things change forever.

Mia nodded, “We’ll figure something out,” she promised, “I... looked up a few places before. We’ll look into them today, alright?”

“If you give me the names, I’ll have a look,” Dorian offered, “but... first I think something to eat and,” then reached out to pick up the water glass and put it in Cullen’s shaking hands, “you drink this now. Maker only knows the last time you had anything _good_ in your system.”

With a small smile, Mia pulled out her phone to start looking up the names of places she’d found before, “most of them are in the city, so we won’t be far if you need something,” she offered, “or... whatever happens. But you won’t be alone, okay?”

\---

Cullen raised the glass Dorian had handed him to his lips and took an exploratory sip. He had no idea when the last time he had anything to eat or drink was - only that he must have had _something_ in the past week - and he wasn't sure how his stomach would react. But Maker, his throat was so parched and his mouth was so dry… the rational part of his mind that had sluggishly been surfacing knew he should take it slowly, yet he couldn't help but take a few larger gulps before asserting control.

His stomach lurched, but he held it together somehow and nodded at Mia's words. He'd have reached for her hand, but he had to hold the glass with both of his to keep from shaking all the contents out onto himself, so he tilted his head her way. He still couldn't bear making eye contact with them after… well, after what he'd revealed, but he was grateful, so, so grateful for their help.

He was also terrified, though, to tell the truth. Terrified of leaving the familiar and staying with strangers and having them poke and prod into his mind. He always had been, and that's why he'd never gone. That's why he'd fled the _one_ group therapy session he tried to attend so long ago. Fear. But now something had changed. Something had grown in him that was larger than that fear. Hope, maybe? Some modicum of willpower? Either way, fear or no, he was going. It was either that or more of… this… and even as he shook in pain and, yes, the desire to run and find more that he was battling with each breath, he knew he wanted to be done with it. That he _was_ done with it.

“Good,” he replied, “That's good. I'm scared… terrified… but I'm just… I'm done.”

\---

“I know,” Dorian answered as he lifted a hand to run through Cullen’s hair, “and it’s okay to be done.”

Mia looked up from her phone and smiled a little before she reached out to touch a slightly longer curl that Cullen had missed with the scissors before, “We should get you cleaned up a bit,” she offered, “it might help you feel a little better.”

“I’ve got clippers in the bathroom,” Dorian offered.

She nodded and held her phone out to Dorian, “here’s a couple of places I looked at,” Mia told him, then looked back to Cullen, “why don’t we go get you cleaned up a little while he looks through everything, and we’ll make some decisions about where after?”

\---

Amber eyes blinked at that. It took several breaths for him to realize what Mia meant and why Dorian was talking about clippers. He groaned as he remembered, finally, what he'd done. “My hair,” he moaned as his face flushed and he ran a hand through it. “I can't believe I…” _How stupid._ But it was done. There was nothing for it but to let Mia do what she could to try and fix it.

Cullen sighed and nodded as he worked to rise from the couch. Clutching that glass of water against his chest with one hand, he leaned on Mia for support as they made their way to Dorian's bathroom. Once inside, he couldn't bear to look into the mirror, so he focused on the counter as he took another sip of water before putting the glass down.

A memory surfaced of the night he went with Dorian to that work party. He'd let Dorian style his hair then, and his stomach twisted knowing it was all just gone. Gone because he couldn't hold it together… or rather, it was gone because he couldn't ask for help when he was falling apart. “There's… there's a stool around here somewhere, I think.”

\---

A bit of searching got them the stool from the closet as well as a bag with some scissors and clippers in it. Dorian seemed to be pretty good with organization, after all, and Mia smiled a little as she got everything set up and gestured for Cullen to sit. “I think I remember Mom cutting your hair like this a few times,” she teased as he grabbed out a comb and started working through a few of the knots that were left, “usually before a dance or a date, and you’d freak out thinking she was going shave your head.”

\---

He sat when she asked him to, thankful to take the weight off his aching legs. It sunk in that this was the first time he’d seen her in years, and he wrung his hands together as he searched his foggy mind for something to say to her. What could he say to her after everything that had happened? But then she opened the conversation, and he found himself smiling at the memory of their mother eyeballing his unruly hair with disdain for as long as she could before she forced him to sit, just like this, so she could make him “presentable.” He’d complained, very vocally, each time. The memory was bittersweet, and his smile was more than a little sad, but he found himself replying more naturally than he would have imagined… given the circumstances.

“Only because she did once, remember?” he answered. “One _oops,_ and suddenly everything had to go.”

\---

“Because you squirmed,” she teased as she gently untangled the worst of the knots, “something about thinking she was going to take your ear off.” Mia smiled in the mirror down at him and then gently ran the comb back through to make sure she got everything, “Was that the time she actually threatened to wash your mouth out with soap because you started swearing?”

\---

“Yes, well, you didn’t see how she was holding those scissors. And you know she kept them sharp. In fact,” and, for a wonder, one side of his mouth actually tugged upward into a tiny smile, “ _you_ be careful back there, yourself.”

It was easy to fall back into this banter with her, easier than he thought it would be, and part of him wondered why he’d been so scared of this for so long. The answer came, though, in the form of a memory. Several in fact, of how he’d taken advantage of her kindness time and time again, only repaying her by making her worry and hurt. That little smile fell and he reached a shaking, hesitant hand up to cover a hand she’d rested on his shoulder. “Hey, Mia,” he started softly, “Thank you… for being here. And… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

\---

“I know,” she answered before she bent down to kiss the top of Cullen’s head, “and I’m glad to be here. I was so shocked when Dorian called, I didn’t really know _what_ to do, but... this feels better than before. We’ll get you some help, and hopefully, make things a little better this time, okay?” Mia squeezed Cullen’s hand for a long moment as she smiled into the mirror again. Even with the sickness and the withdrawal and everything else, that smile told her more than she’d expected. Cullen had been so upset for so long that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him smile. Something, obviously, had to have changed deep down in him for him to even be able to manage that much right now.

She let his hand go and picked up the scissors so she could cut the longer bits that had been left. True to Cullen’s prompting, she was certainly careful, though after a moment she looked up to catch Cullen’s gaze in the mirror, “So... Dorian’s very nice,” she commented softly, “though not what I expected. You’ll have to tell me how _that_ first date went.”

\--- 

He caught himself scratching at his arms again, so he grabbed the glass of water he'd brought with him to take a sip and give his hands something to hold. He realized that as he'd been sitting here talking to Mia, the pain had… decreased. It wasn't so present. Of course, as soon as he thought about it, it jumped back to bite at him, making his muscles clench, and he closed his eyes until it receded a bit again.

Talking. Not thinking about it. That helped for now. So he'd keep talking. Mia seemed more than amenable to that.

“I'm not even sure I knew it was a date,” he started, voice unsteady at first from that rush of pain but normalizing as he went on. “Just coffee. And I didn't think he could possibly be interested in me like that. It was a wonder he spoke to me at all.” He flashed her a sheepish look in the mirror. He was still avoiding his own face, but he'd been watching hers. “I don't know if you noticed, but we're quite… different.” Different, but it worked, more or less. At least, it had before all this.

\---

“I think different suits you,” she pointed out as she cut a few more the longer strands, “things are different now, after all. Right?” With a sigh she put down the scissors and picked up the clippers, “Now, did you want me to leave it as long as possible, or just buzz it?” The pictures she’d seen of Cullen with those long curls had been so nice, so to see him now with this patchy, wavy situation was just heartbreaking. “New start, new hair?”

\---

His first thought was to just buzz it all off at this point. That would be faster and much easier, after all, but he thought of bronze fingers raking through his hair and something caught in his throat. At times, all those curls had been a nuisance, but the feeling of Dorian’s hands twisting in them had been comforting and soothing to incredibly intimate and everything in between. And Cullen had just… chopped everything off. _Stupid_ , he thought again and shook his head. “If you think you can salvage anything… I’d prefer that to nothing. But whatever you can do,” he shrugged, “I can’t be picky at this point, can I?”

\---

She fished around for the blade that would keep it as long as possible and quickly turned it on, “Just tell me if you start feeling like you need to move, okay? We don’t need a repeat of you screaming about someone trying to cut your ear off.”

Mia worked quickly enough, and while it was considerably shorter, there was still enough hair left to comb. For as bad as it had looked before, this actually looked like someone had done it on purpose, and Cullen looked... well, more like himself than Mia had seen in a long time. “Maker help me,” she breathed as she set the clippers down and set to running her fingers through the short blond strands, “my big brother’s been in there all along.”

\---

He certainly didn't _feel_ like her big brother, not the one she knew, anyway… but he wasn't going to argue her on that point. Screwing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath to brace himself for whatever it was that he was about to see. In his mind, he knew what would be there in that mirror. Pale skin, watery, red eyes with dark circles under them, sheen of sweat, chattering teeth, general look of illness, the whole nine yards. He'd seen it many times before, but once - only a week ago - he'd thought those days behind him.

Amber eyes opened, and it was just a bad as he'd imagined. A very sick man looked back at him with eyes that carried a tortured look, despite the light conversation, despite the distraction. And his hair. It was at odds with the mental picture he'd established of himself now. It looked more like… more like before. What he'd been _trying_ to do that day when he lost grip on reality and himself. It was a strange juxtaposition, two worlds colliding and for a moment he felt dizzy and untethered. He shook his head sharply to keep from falling and met Mia's eyes in the mirror.

“Such as I am,” he replied sadly, but then that ghost of a smile was back, “Thanks for leaving my ears intact.”

\---

Mia wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, “I did my best,” she teased and hugged him again for a long moment, “I love you, Cullen, okay?” Her voice went a bit softer then, and she squeezed him a bit tighter, “always have, always will, and... you know, I’ll be here for you through this. Whatever you need.”

\---

That close, he could tell that she smelled like home, and Cullen’s throat clenched from the overload of memories. Tears pricked at his eyes as he raised a hand to rest on one of the arms wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and just lost himself a bit in the warmth and comfort of having a piece of home so near. Sad, but good. He _missed_ it.

“I love you, too,” he answered in a cracking voice, “It’s been too long… I don’t… I won’t disappear again. I’m going to stick around.”

\---

“I’m glad,” she answered with that same kind of shaking voice, “we’ve all missed you so much.” One hand rubbed along Cullen’s arm and she sighed, “but let’s get you somewhere that can help you, alright?” Again, Mia kissed the top of Cullen’s head and squeezed him one last time before she got up, “I’m going to find a broom to clean all this hair up so Dorian won’t have to. Maybe you should... go talk to him?”

\---

“I should…” Cullen began, but he was unsure. He'd hurt Dorian, he knew he had. The things he'd said when he first got up and stumbled out into the living room, they were all a blur of anger, fear, and pain… and need. He didn't remember it all clearly, but what he'd said after Mia snapped him out of it… he remembered _that_ word for word. Despite the constant levels of pain he seemed to have wrangled under control for now, he was more himself, and he was ashamed. _What can I even say to him? Will anything make this better?_

Mia smiled softly and gave him a gentle nudge toward the door. That at least got him going, slowly and his muscles cried out with every step he took, but he was moving. He made it to the open door of the bedroom, leaning against the frame as he caught his breath and looked out to where Dorian sat with his laptop open, concentration painted on his face.

_What do I say?_

_How about you start with…_

“Hi,” Cullen finally managed, eyes cast askance.

\---

While Mia had been dealing with Cullen’s hair, Dorian had pulled up the few places she’d recommended and printed out their info packets. This wasn’t something he’d ever expected to have to do for anyone, looking up... rehab facilities. Seeing them, seeing their list of programs and everything else had made him feel more than a little sick himself, but a recurring mantra of _this is for Cullen. Cullen needs this to get help_ over and over again helped to at least keep him from closing everything down and telling Mia to do it instead. This was a bad enough situation as it was, and putting his own problems into it wasn’t going to make it any better.

Looking, though... it made him think. He didn’t like thinking about That Place.

_“Dorian, your panic attacks are a direct result of your... deviation. Curing it will cure them. Let us help you.”_

_“There’s nothing wrong with me.”_

_“We’ve talked about these outbursts, Dorian, and if you’re going to be difficult, then we’re going to have to change your dosage until you can be calm and rational.”_

_“How is this not being rational? I’m talking with you just fine!”_

_“I won’t tolerate these outbursts in our sessions, Dorian. You can go back to your room and when you’re feeling more open to discussion, then we’ll talk again.”_

The next week or so, he recalled, had been spent in a prescription-induced near coma. The thought of it made him shudder and he quickly clicked off the tab for the place he was looking at, all full of pictures of smiling doctors and staff as if to say ‘we care!’ and ‘this place isn’t at all the morbid and terrifying experience of your life!’ He couldn’t look at it anymore.

Cullen’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and when he looked up he could feel his face move through a few emotions at once: happiness that Cullen was there, sadness for the situation, fear that he would be angry again, and then... loss. That man hardly resembled the one Dorian had known for so long. He took a breath, closed the laptop, and gestured for Cullen to come in, “Hey,” he greeted, “Mia did an alright job. You look like you could go out into public now.”

\---

“Yeah.” Cullen didn't meet Dorian's eyes as he scratched the back of his neck and ran his hand back over his head. “It's gonna take some getting used to.”

The walk to the couch was short, but he felt every moment of it as he moved carefully, a little hunched over for the pain. He gripped the couch’s arm as soon as it was in reach, and held on to that as he worked his way around to the front, where he fell back into the cushions clumsily. It hurt to jostle himself around like that - a bolt like lightning went from his spine up to his head and exploded behind his eyes. It took a long moment of strained silence to refocus and settle from that shock.

Finally able to breathe, Cullen opened his mouth, but he wasn't sure what to say, so he closed it again, gritting his teeth. _Just start from the beginning._

“Dorian, listen,” he began, voice strained, “I… shouldn't have… that day, I shouldn't have pushed you out. I love you, and I promised. But I did it anyway.” Cullen finally allowed himself to try to meet Dorian's eyes, and for the first time since he stumbled out into the living room, he really saw him. Fresh pain, but it was heartbreak rather than body aches from the drug slowly leaving his system. Heartbreak at the exhaustion, the sadness, the worry, everything Cullen saw in Dorian's eyes and on his face, Cullen had put there. “I'm a fool - you can't say I'm not - and I'm just… I'm so sorry.”

It was weak. It didn't begin to express the level of regret he felt. It was a start.

\---

“I know you are,” he answered softly and took a breath. The fact that he recognized what he’d done and at least apologized... well, that was something. Dorian wasn’t so used to that. It didn’t quite make him feel better about the situation, but he could appreciate it. An apology, and a sincere one at that, was better than nothing. There were still a hundred things that Dorian still felt responsible for, leaving Cullen alone chief among them, but... hearing him say the words was better than them just leaving it to be dealt with later. Or not. Since there was a good chance that among all this their relationship problems could get pushed aside.

Dorian reached out and took one of Cullen’s shaking hands, pulled it away from where the other man was scratching at his arm, and he lifted it to kiss the back of it. Regardless of the sadness and hurt, which made his skin practically ache, he wanted that touch. Something about feeling even that clammy hand in his own made it feel somehow like it could be fixed. Somehow. Not now, but eventually. And not with just the two of them.

“I love you too,” he went on after a long moment, “more than anyone in the world, and... Maker, I shouldn’t have gone. I know it wouldn’t have helped, but I feel like I could have done _something_ if I hadn’t left you here alone. You won’t agree, and I know that, but still.” Dorian squeezed the hand in his own again and gently traced over Cullen’s knuckles with his fingers, “but I meant what I said before: I won’t ever love you any less because of this. That’s just not going to happen.”

\---

He heard those words _I won't ever love you any less_ , and he knew he didn't deserve them. He didn't deserve a single ounce of Dorian’s love, but somehow he had it. That splitting ache in Cullen's chest multiplied several times over, its intensity drowning out the shakes and the twitching and the pain. How he wished he could turn back time, that he could go back to a week ago and do the right thing. He saw them in his head, all the should haves: him opening that package, letting himself fall apart in front of Dorian, letting it go, calling Mia, smiling through tears and setting up time to catch up. All the things he should have done but didn't. He'd chosen the darker path, the selfish path, and now he just wanted to take it all back and pull Dorian close and never let him go.

But that was a fantasy. The reality was that he’d fallen. He’d slipped and he’d made awful choices. Everything he’d done after opening that package had been because of his pain and guilt, but the hurt he’d felt that day didn’t justify _any_ of what he’d done. Cullen felt a divide between them, one that he’d dug with his own two hands, and he didn’t know how to cross it. He didn’t know if he could. But then he felt Dorian’s hand around his own, he felt that little squeeze, and though the divide was still there, he felt a connection. Something. Maybe. Maybe he hadn’t burned it all down.

He squeezed that hand back. “Not your fault,” he said with a shake in his voice, “None of it, so don’t blame yourself. Or try not to.” He was silent for a while, wanting nothing more than to fall over and lay his head in Dorian’s lap and let that make it better. It wouldn't, he knew that, but it didn't stop him from wanting. “Would it… would it be wrong if I moved closer? I don't want to, I don't know, make you uncomfortable, but Maker, it all hurts so much and I just…” his words trailed off. It was ridiculous wasn't it? Wanting to take comfort from the very person he'd hurt most.

\---

Dorian bit at his lip and said one small prayer to the Maker or Andraste or whoever was listening: _please_. It was short and simple, but it was all he could manage for now. Please give him strength, please give him the grace to deal with this, please let Cullen be alright, please please please. Please everything. It wasn’t something he did often, but right now it seemed like the only appropriate thing to do.

“Come here,” Dorian prompted as he gently pulled Cullen in closer. He would have loved to kiss him and and hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright. Of course he _could_ , but it wouldn’t really be true. Things weren’t alright. They were awful. But they would hopefully get better, and that’s what Dorian had to believe. With a small sigh, he settled them back against the couch and got them curled up so Cullen’s head was on his chest and he had one arm around him with the other hand running gently through shorn hair.

Cullen’s body was hot and clammy against his own, but there was something comforting about it. It made Dorian squeeze his eyes closed and try to imagine that the situation wasn’t as bad as it was. Maybe if he pretended this was a normal night he could feel better. They both could. “Just relax,” he managed after a little while, “let’s just... sit like this for a minute, alright?”

\---

“Alright,” Cullen agreed as he closed his eyes and settled in against the other man. Dorian was  safe and solid, and for a moment, Cullen felt _protected_ as he fell into that warm quiet. For a moment, Cullen was stronger as Dorian held him.

But that moment passed as the tremors started again. Cullen’s hands twisted into Dorian’s shirt, and he tried, he _tried_ be still. He wanted to hold on to Dorian’s warmth and the way he felt when his arms were around him, but the twitching returned and the pain followed and he couldn’t even enjoy this one little moment of silence. “Can you talk to me?” he asked through chattering teeth, “It’s… better when I talk.”

But he knew there was a time coming, and soon, when even distraction wouldn’t help. He sent a prayer up to the Maker that he’d be… wherever he was going before he was reduced to that. Before Dorian and Mia had to see this get as bad as it was going to get.

\---

He nodded and rested his chin on the top of Cullen’s head, “I may have shown your sister a few pictures,” he offered, “nothing _private_ , of course, but she wanted to see them. Apparently, she liked what she saw.” Dorian ran a hand along Cullen’s back and sighed after a long moment before he licked his lips, “I was about another hour away from trying to get Samson to tell me if he knew where you were,” he went on, “which, I can imagine how that would have gone. I would have figured he’d know better than anyone else, but I didn’t want to not be here in case you came back. I didn’t want to think about what might happen if you came here and no one opened the door.”

\---

“I put you through a lot. Samson would have been,” and he paused as every muscle clenched and he let a sharp exhale out through his nose. “... the icing on the cake,” he continued.

But Dorian had somehow found Mia. He hadn't questioned her presence earlier. It had shocked him to hear her voice, but he couldn't say he was surprised to see her. Now that he was able to think a little more clearly, though…

“I'm glad you had Mia,” and he was. He really was. The thought of Dorian being completely alone while Cullen was off blasting his brains with chemicals was more than he could bear. “How did you find her?”

\---

“I called her,” he answered, “she wrote her number on the letter she sent. I... read it, which I apologize for, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

After a while, Mia came back out and they spread out the printouts Dorian had pulled from the various places. They made sure to let Cullen be part of the discussion: insurance, payment, programs, distance, and everything else. Dorian stayed quiet through a lot of it, just because he didn’t want to put any of his own issues into it. Looking over programs had him in a bit of a cold sweat, so much so that he’d gotten up to fix Cullen a bowl of soup so he didn’t have to hear anymore.

As he brought it back over and put it on the table in front of Cullen, Dorian looked over at them both, “Did we make a decision?” he asked.

“We’re going to go with this one,” Mia answered, and tapped one of the pages, “it’s sort of halfway between here and my place so it should be good for everyone, and... it looks like it would be the best option.”

Dorian looked over at Cullen then, “Well... if you’re sure. And you should eat a little bit, alright?”

\---

“As sure as I can be,” Cullen replied, trying not to sound as terrified as he was, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his knees to keep them from bobbing up and down, and he'd torn his cheeks to ribbons from chewing on them as he and Mia talked. The taste of blood turned his stomach, but he couldn't stop. The place they'd settled on was a combination rehab and therapy center, so they wouldn't turn him out once the physical effects wore off. No, he imagined he'd be there for a while, working out the demons in his head once he'd worked the poison out of his body. At least 6 weeks, maybe as much as 12. They offered post rehab counseling with ongoing sponsors, too, which he liked. Both he and Mia agreed that he should have someone to turn to after, someone who was qualified to talk him down if and when it got bad.

But it would be new and unfamiliar and full of strangers. It would be work and talking and all the things that he'd avoided doing all this time. It was the right choice, but that didn't make it any less frightening.

He leaned over the table and lifted a small spoonful of soup to his mouth. Most of it landed right back into the bowl for how he was twitching and shaking, but the little bit that made it cut the copper in his mouth, which helped. It was just a clear broth, but to Cullen, it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and another shaky spoonful followed the first.

“It's good,” he told Dorian with a little smile, “Thanks.” Dorian looked shaken. Well, more shaken than he had been before, and Cullen wondered on that for a moment while he sipped more soup. He looked at the papers spread out before him. All rehab centers. All smiling doctors and soothing imagery and promises of making things better. And then he thought he understood, and again his heart broke to know that Dorian had subjected himself to sifting through these places long enough to print this stuff out for him. _Another price he's had to pay because I'm here._ Cullen shook his head at that. “And thank you for this,” he said gesturing at the paperwork. He hoped Dorian knew that he understood the effort it must have taken - he wouldn't say anything more specific about it in front of Mia.

“I guess the only thing left to do is call. Hopefully, they have room,” he went on. “And, Maker, I should call Garrett, too. This place will work with employers, but I should be the one to explain. He deserves that much.”

\---

Dorian leaned over and kissed Cullen’s temple, “I talked to him a little over the week and he’s worried, so... yeah, you ought to call him,” he agreed before he cleared his throat, “um... do you have everything you’d need to take with you? Insurance card and all that, or is all that at Samson’s?”

While the boys chatted Mia looked through her phone to make sure she had everything she’d need for all this before she looked back up at Cullen, “Well... if you’re going to do it, then you should do it. Unless you want to call this place tomorrow morning, but it might be good to go while you’re still able to get up and going.”

\---

The sooner the better, he knew that. Cullen knew that by tonight, he'd be inconsolable and there'd be no way to reason with him. It was odd, really, to sit here with his mind mostly intact and know that in a few hours’ time, he'd be completely out of it. But he'd been there before. His immediate future was written in stone. There was still that little voice that screamed _don't do this just go get more and it won't hurt anymore_ , but he had a handle on it right now. Later tonight? Tomorrow? He wasn't so sure. Better to be away at this place with professionals who could deal with it and wouldn't be hurt by his behavior. He'd hurt others enough. He'd hurt himself enough.

He still shook as he sat there and the thought _no no too soon I'm not ready_ shot through his mind. He swallowed and mustered up whatever courage remained in his broken body. “It's only going to get worse,” he choked out, “I won't… I _won't_ put you, either of you, through that again.” He caught Dorian’s gaze, “Once was one time too many.” A shaky breath, and then, “We should see… how soon they can take me. The sooner the better.” And although he knew that was the truth, all he could think as he looked at Dorian was _I don't want to go._

\---

Mia nodded, “I’ll call them and get it set up,” she offered, and patted Cullen’s shoulder before dialing the number and getting up to go talk to whoever answered.

When Mia stepped away, Dorian reached out to take one of Cullen’s hands as he leaned in to kiss his temple, “I’m really proud of you for doing this,” he told him softly, “there’s not a lot of people who would do this on their own. I think it’s proof of a good thing, even if it feels really bad now.” Cullen had to have changed from the last time to want to get _help_ as opposed to dealing with it himself. It was like when Dorian had finally admitted he’d needed therapy, real therapy, and actually made the call the first time. “When I set up my first appointment with my therapist, I remember being a nervous wreck and feeling like there was nothing that could be done for what was wrong with me,” Dorian went on, “but they can help you, and it’ll be for the better. I know it will. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

\---

Cullen sighed. Dorian was right. He knew he was right - everyone needed help at some point. But not everyone had sunk to the depths he’d sunk. Not everyone was as helpless, in every sense of the word, as he was now. “At least you could call them yourself. I can’t even do that much.” He realized his tone was sharp, sharper than he meant it to be. He was disappointed in himself, not angry. He was too tired to be angry. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry - it is for the best but it’s just… I’ll be gone for a long time. Months. And I won’t know these people. It’s just so fast and… so much.” He squeezed the hand that was holding his, wanting to fall into Dorian’s arms again, even if it was only for a moment, but maybe that would make it harder to leave. “... I’ll miss you,” he admitted hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how Dorian would feel about this later, how he’d feel about _them_ , but Cullen knew that _he_ would feel lost for a while without Dorian.

\---

“I’ll miss you too,” he replied easily and squeezed Cullen’s hand again, “but I’ll write to you, if you want, and I’m sure you’ll be on your best behavior to get phone privileges. We’ll still talk, alright? It won’t be the same, but we will.” Dorian couldn’t go there. He couldn’t. It was all well and good to send Cullen off, but he couldn’t go to one of those places with the nurses who would take him in and smile. He couldn’t stand there, by the time they’d get there it would be getting toward dark anyway, and to just... see it. Maybe it was weak and unfair, but Dorian couldn’t divorce that much of himself.

He lifted Cullen’s hand again and kissed the back of it, “I can’t... I can’t go with you,” Dorian told him, “and, as much as I love you, I... don’t think I could visit. You already have enough to deal with, and you don’t need me showing up and having an emotional breakdown at the sight of the place.” Grey eyes lifted to meet amber ones then, “I don’t want my shit to distract you from getting yourself seen to. That’s the most important thing for you right now.”

\---

He felt his mouth pulling and twisting as he ground his teeth and worked to swallow this down. Cullen understood _why_ , if printing out the paperwork had upset Dorian so much, of course he wouldn’t be able to actually _go_  there. And Cullen couldn’t ask this of him, anyway - he’d already taken far too much as it was. So he blinked back the tears and nodded. “It’s… it’s fine. I understand.” He’d meant to sound reassuring, but his voice cracked and broke over those words. “You have to think about yourself, too.” 

\---

That crack in Cullen’s voice made it feel like his own heart was steadily being smashed. Then again, it had rather felt like that for days. One more fault line, one more crack, it was all going to get demolished when he had to say goodbye anyway. “I just don’t want you to get there and get distracted by what’s going on with me,” he pointed out as he scooted a little closer and took both of Cullen’s hands in his own, “this is... a big thing for you. You know it is. You wouldn’t have said you needed to go if you didn’t know it was important. I just... I want you to get well. I want you to be healthy and happy and have the people who love you around you all the time, and this is how it’s going to happen.” Now _his_ voice was cracking and Dorian’s face and eyes felt hot and swollen. His throat hurt with the effort to not let out a sobbing kind of sound, and he squeezed Cullen’s hands tighter, “I love you, Cullen, I do. And I just want you to do what’s best for yourself.”

\---

The words _You. You’re what’s best for me._ were on his tongue but he couldn’t say them. His throat was closed and all he could do was breathe and feel his heart shudder and start in his chest. It felt like… it felt like something was ending. Or at least shifting, which was just as sad. The knowledge that nothing would be like it was before was heavy and sad, and it dragged him down as he looked into those shining grey eyes. Everything between them from now on would be tainted by what he’d done, changed somehow and harder. If it even survived. His fault, entirely, for making the flirtatious, smiling man he met so long ago so fucking sad and broken and choking back tears in front of him. _For_ him. He couldn’t let this happen again. He only wanted Dorian to be happy. He only ever wanted to see Dorian smile, but he’d turned him into this. He’d dragged that beautiful man down into the shit with him because he was stubborn and selfish. So fucking selfish.

The only way to salvage any of this, the only way to see that smile again, was for Cullen to leave. Leave and rebuild and come back.

“I love you,” he finally said, voice strangled. It was goodbye. He knew this was goodbye. He didn’t know for how long, but that’s what it was. “Everything is… it’s so fucked up and confusing and I can hardly think straight, but that is the _one thing_ I know for sure. I love you.” He paused and squeezed his eyes shut as he grit his teeth together. Maker, this was hard. It hurt. It hurt worse than the withdrawals and all the shit he’d put himself through. “... but I have to be… selfish a little while longer, to do what’s best for me,” Cullen echoed Dorian’s words back at him as his eyes opened again and met Dorian’s. “I hoped I could do this alone. I thought I could be strong enough to do this alone. But I can’t. I never could, and I hurt you trying. Because it’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than… us.” And he couldn’t help the choked sob that escaped his throat. It wasn’t fucking fair. Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t what they had enough to fix the cracks in his soul? Why was he still broken? It _should have_ been enough. “I have to say goodbye to you, and I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to, but I have to. And I can’t ask you to wait for me, but Maker, I _can hope.”_ Tears finally spilled from his eyes as he blinked and waited for Dorian’s response.

\---

“Hey,” Dorian prompted and let go of Cullen’s hands to cup his face. He brushed his thumbs along Cullen’s cheeks so he could wipe away those tears, “you _should_ be selfish right now, okay? I wouldn’t blame you for it. Like you said, this is _bigger_ than us, and I would rather you do this, and we figure it all out later. It’s the right thing.”

He felt sick, sicker than he had while looking at those facilities, and even when he’d been watching Cullen writhe around in his pain and anger, but no matter how badly _he_ felt, he knew this _wasn’t about him_. Something he’d sort of figured out, which was probably some sign of maturity for himself, was that when you loved someone you had to let them do what was right. Even if it was uncomfortable, which it often was, it was the better thing to do.

Dorian took another breath before he tipped his head to the side and studied that sad, handsome, sickly looking face. It reminded him, which was a bit weird at the moment, of a picture in a story book he’d had when he was a boy. He’d often thought Cullen to look like the titular Knight in Shining Armor with his blond curls and pale skin, but right now, he reminded Dorian of the tortured hero who was about to embark on some sort of quest to better himself. There had been a story once, one he could remember his nanny reading to him, and he managed a small smile for the thought of it.

“You know, there’s this old story in the Imperium about a knight who goes off on a journey to find... you know, himself and do all these trials to be a better person,” Dorian told him, and with a quick look down at his hands he tugged the simple silver band that he wore around his thumb off. “When he leaves he tells his sweetheart that he has to go, right, and it’s all very dramatic and they make promises to love each other no matter what,” he went on, and took one of Cullen’s hands to press the ring into his palm, “and she, it’s always a she in those stories isn’t it, gives him a token to take with him to remember her by. So he knows to come back to her.”

He cast a pointed look down to where he was holding that ring into Cullen’s hand, “So... you go, and you do this big thing for you, okay? And when you’re done and you’re ready…” Maker, he was crying now too. Since they’d started this relationship, despite its terrible ups and downs, Dorian had never expected it to end. Even if it was temporary, he’d never expected them to have to really _end it_ , but Cullen was right. “You come find me again.” Dorian asked him tearfully, “and you keep this, and you’ll know I’m thinking of you, because I will be, and I want you to _get better_.”

\---

The world went wavy and clouded as tears fell freely and Cullen’s chest burned when he felt Dorian press that ring into his hand - that _token_. The metal was as warm as the hand it had been on, and he clutched at it as he wrapped his arms around Dorian and pulled him in as tightly as he could. In this moment, there were no shakes, no twitches, there was no pain, save the one in his heart. There was just him and Dorian and this _ache_. They hadn’t said the words, but what they’d both said was that _this_ , what they were before, it was over. Cullen tucked his head under Dorian’s chin and let the sobs come as they would. Never the same again.

But there was hope. There was hope that after he took care of himself, after he healed all the cracks and broken places, there could be something new. The ring in his balled fist was proof enough of that, but it hardly made this moment easier. The moment of farewell.

“I will,” he finally choked out, “I’ll get better and I’ll find you and then _we’ll_ be better. I promise. Don’t give up on me.”

\---

 “You don’t have to worry about that, alright?” Dorian asked as he wrapped his arms around Cullen to hold him close. He buried his face in the fuzz of Cullen’s hair and squeezed his eyes shut. Maker, he would _miss_ this man. He’d miss how happy they were when things were good and how warm he was when they were pressed close together. He’d miss how Cullen made him feel like a better person. Dorian loved him, loved him so much, which was why he had to do this.

What they were was over. Done. It had been done the moment Cullen walked out on him like that. The difference, however, was that it could _still_ be something else. Eventually. Something better.

From behind them, Mia came up to the side of the couch and sighed for the sight of the two men hugging and crying. “They can take you today,” she told Cullen softly, “so I think we ought to go.”

Dorian squeezed Cullen tighter for that and nodded, “You should,” he murmured.

Mia went to gather up the things she’d brought with her, along with a small bag of Cullen’s things that Dorian had pointed out where they were. Dorian had stayed with Cullen on the couch for a little while longer before he got them both coffee to take with them and some of Cullen’s things. The last thing, Cullen’s guitar, had been handed off to Mia since her place was closer, and... well, it didn’t feel right for Dorian to keep it. Not now. As much as he loved Cullen, he couldn’t keep that from him whenever he got out, since it had been mutually agreed he’d stay with Mia after. The last minute things gave Dorian enough to do to keep from crying too much, but when everyone was dressed and bags packed and Cullen and Mia were standing in front of the door, Dorian couldn’t help but have to close his eyes and steel himself for a moment.

He took a breath before he leaned in and hugged Mia. They promised to talk as soon as possible, and Mia promised to let him know what was going on. She was going straight home after taking Cullen, so... Dorian wouldn’t see her again. Then he turned to Cullen, and…  _Maker._ Dorian felt himself start to break down again and he reached out to pull Cullen in close to him so he could bury his face in the crook of the other man’s neck, “You _take care_ of yourself,” he breathed, “and if you need anything call me. Okay?”

\---

This was it. This was where it ended. All Cullen could do was wrap his arms around Dorian and feel it go. He held the man he loved, the man he had to leave, in a desperate embrace. He buried his face in dark hair and just breathed him in. The warmth of Dorian pressed against him, the scent of citrus and spice in his nose, the feeling of two hearts beating together - these were the things he wanted to keep with him, to remember when things got dark and cold and felt like he couldn’t carry on. He’d remember these things as he worked to heal his scars. He’d remember these things and know that he’d never be the same again. And that was ok.

Tears rolled down his cheeks and trembling lips pressed kisses into Dorian’s hair before he cupped his beautiful face in pale hands. Cullen pressed his forehead to Dorian’s and closed his eyes, smiling though it hurt and the tears wouldn’t stop. “Thank you,” he breathed, “For everything. I love you and… goodbye.”

\---

“I love you too,” Dorian told him. He wasn’t going to say goodbye, though. He couldn’t handle it. Instead, he just squeezed Cullen one more time and offered him a teary smile. This was for the best. It was. And it was going to be okay.

Then they were going, and Dorian had to stand in the doorway and watch them go down the stairs and _leave_. He managed to see them off well enough before he shut the door. He was alone. Dorian was alone in a way he hadn’t been in _months_ , and it felt like someone was ripping his heart out of his chest. It had been too much, far too much, so fast and then Cullen was gone and they were apart and just… Dorian _hurt_.

He was alone. And sad. And it was going to be a _rough_ time for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian and Mia) and mistysinkat (Cullen).
> 
> On a personal note: so many tears.


	30. D.C. al Fine [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen begins to heal and Dorian deals with loneliness, guilt, and anger.

Things, in a lot of ways, went on like they always had. Dorian had survived terrible shit in the past: his parents, leaving Tevinter, having to stay over in Kirkwall for a month while he sorted out a job, and he’d come out of it as well adjusted as anyone could hope for. Now was no different. He went to work, saw friends outside of work, busied himself with various things around home and out, went to his therapy sessions, and managed to sleep at night. Another notch of ‘bad’ in his belt wasn’t going to completely derail him from functioning, after all. He’d spent a week nearly inconsolable with worry already, and the knowledge that Cullen was at least somewhere safe was better than not knowing anything at all. Readjusting to life before, before Cullen, was almost _too_ easy.

It felt oddly routine, but the routine did keep him from thinking too hard about it. When he thought too hard about it, Dorian didn’t really like the person he became. They were all natural reactions: guilt, anger, denial. Logically, he knew that much, but he’d never much liked himself when he started thinking and feeling things to actively block out the rest of the world, or whatever it was that giving him trouble. Dorian liked his status quo to be easy, boat unrocked, and when it wasn’t and he felt himself hunkering down to recollect and regroup it made him... agitated. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it when the routine was tainted by uncomfortable things hiding in the back of his mind.

_"If I’d stayed home, then maybe things wouldn’t have played out the way they did. Or maybe they would have. I don’t really know.”_

_"You said he told you he made you leave on purpose, though. It’s not like you abandoned anyone. It was a conscious decision.”_

_“If I had stayed I could have least figured out why he left. Even if he yelled it at me I could’ve had more to go on other than him just... leaving. I spent a week thinking I’d pushed him to go.”_

_“So... you feel guilty that you didn’t stay with him, then? That you didn’t make him stay when he didn’t want to? Even if it would have possibly made it worse?”_

_“At least I would have done something. Maybe if I had he wouldn’t have... well, you know.”_

_“You can’t stop an addict, Dorian.”_

_“No, but theoretically I should be able to stop the man who loves me from making terrible decisions. Or, at least, I should be able to keep him from having a mental breakdown in my flat.”_

Most of the time, Dorian went on like he’d done before. Then he’d picture Cullen coming back after being gone for a week, still high out of his mind, or the sight of the flat after he’d just disappeared, and he couldn’t just _exist_. Flares of guilt went through him like ice in his veins, and he’d stumble where he stood. His eyes would burn and ache with the knowledge that he _caused it_ and he’d have to talk himself back down. No, no it wasn’t his fault. Bolts of anger and frustration, at himself and at Cullen for not bothering to talk to him despite his fucking _promise_ , were like fire. They were hot and spiteful and shorted his system out like a breaker had just been flipped.

He drank. He drank more than he did before, which had been a lot, and Dorian didn’t care. He didn’t tell his therapist. He went out, drank when he was out, and went home and drank when he was home. If his mind was too sticky with cocktails or wine, he didn’t think and he didn’t feel _lesser_.

Dorian Pavus didn’t _do_ breakups, after all. Dorian Pavus didn’t _pine_. Dorian Pavus lived through terrible shit and lived to tell the tale on the other side of it. And he would. Eventually.

\----

The sun had been up for hours. It was shining into the little room through gauzy curtains, and Cullen could hear the sounds of people talking and moving outside. He'd been brought a schedule yesterday; the kind young orderly had gone through each line item with him, explaining the whys and hows of every activity. For now, he'd said, they were giving him a short list of things to do until Cullen and his doctor worked out an individual treatment plan.

He was supposed to start today, but he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed. He hadn't moved much from that little bed since they'd put him in there after his detox was over. He just lay there, listlessly, as his mind pieced itself back together and the reality of his situation, what he'd done and what it really meant, became crystal clear.

_I've ruined everything. I've hurt everyone._

Flashes of that dark week came back to him, the parts where he was conscious, anyway, and his body burned with guilt and shame. Disconnected memories of that strange day with Dorian and Mia worked themselves into a whole, and he squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball as he remembered

_I love you and goodbye._

Everything after that had been a blur. He remembered resting his head on the cool dashboard in Mia's car as his body was wracked with pain and his heart was torn in grief. He remembered Mia's hand on his back and her soothing voice filling his head the whole way there. And then there was nothing but blinding pain. Pain that blanked out everything and everyone, even himself. He knew there were people with him almost the whole time, making sure he ate and that he didn't hurt himself, but he didn't remember any of their faces. They were just voices in the dark.

The first three days were the worst. He didn't feel the passage of time and only knew it'd been three days because one of those voices told him that; he only knew the screaming pain that sunk deep into his bones. It took almost a week for it to leave him, and now he lay curled up in his bed, aching and sore but still. The twitching and shakes had stopped, but in their absence, his mind had engaged.

And that's why, though he was supposed to be meeting with his doctor for the first time, he couldn't move. Paralyzed with shame and sadness and anger, he stayed where he was until the sun was high and the morning turned to afternoon.

He heard the door open, but didn't look to see who it was. An orderly, perhaps, come to check on him, or the roommate they'd placed him with. Either way, it didn't matter. Cullen didn't want to move or talk. They'd leave eventually. The sound of a chair being slid across the floor to his bedside drew him out of his mind a little and he rolled over to see a man he didn't know - a kid really - settling into the seat.

“You missed our appointment,” he said softly, “So I thought I'd come see how you are. I'm Cole; I'm your doctor. How do you feel?”

White blond hair framed a pair of piercing blue eyes that were at odds with his youthful face. Cullen could hardly stand to look at them for long, so he watched the man's hands, paperwhite and thin, where they lay clasped in his lap, above a small notebook. 

_He's a kid. A fucking kid. What does he know about this?_

Cole chuckled and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Not in the mood to talk today? That's alright. I can talk for both of us, for now.”

The young man readjusted in his seat so one ankle rested on the other knee. “I know you're thinking I look young for this,” he laughed, “And no, I can't read your mind… I just get that a lot… but I _can_ help you... only if you'll let me, though. Only if you'll _communicate_.”

He leaned forward and held that notebook out. “It's fine if you don't want to talk yet. But maybe you can write? So, that's all I want from you. Just a one journal entry a day that we can review… together… each session.” He paused for a moment, and Cullen felt that piercing gaze on him. It was intense, though the look in those blue eyes was kind. “But you do have to show up for our sessions. I’m not, strictly speaking, supposed to make house calls.” He offered Cullen a wink and a warm smile before continuing, “That's all I ask for now until you're ready. Just write out your thoughts and come see me each day when it's time. The talking can come later.”

With that, he placed the notebook and a pen on Cullen's bed and stood.

“Oh, one more thing,” he added as he dug in his pocket. “I'm not supposed to do this, either, but I understand this is important to you. From what I hear, they had to fight it off you when you got here, but now that you're done with detox and have calmed down, I don't see a problem with you having it. If it helps.” He leaned down and placed a small object on top of the notebook. It gleamed in the sunlight coming through the window, and Cullen's heart clenched when he saw it.

_Come find me._

One pale hand emerged from the blankets Cullen had wrapped himself in to cover the ring Dorian had given him. “Thank you,” he rasped, and was surprised at the sound of his own voice.

Before he left, Cole winked again and held a finger to his lips, “Our secret, ok? And Cullen, I know we just met, but I want you to know that I _am_ here for you.”

After Cole left, Cullen tried that ring on both thumbs. It was a tight fit, but he settled it onto his left, and then took some time just considering it. Dorian had told that story of the token given in remembrance, but Cullen saw it as a promise to himself. He'd get better. Come what may, he'd get better... _not_ for his family… not even for Dorian. He'd get better for _himself_ , and then worry about mending bridges, if he even could, later.

He couldn't talk now, Cole had the right of it. It was too fresh, too painful, but he thought he _could_ write. Slowly, he worked himself up out of the nest of blankets he'd buried himself in, picked up that notebook and pen, and opened to the first page.

And then he began to write.

\----

_[Felix :) (3:42PM)]: Radio silence isnt like u_

_[Dorian (3:45PM)]: Not in the mood. How r u? Doing better?_

_[Felix :) (3:50PM)]: Better. Mother’s been doting again_

_[Felix :) (3:51PM)]: U ok?_

_[Dorian (4:03PM)]: Not really. Bad shit lately_

_[Dorian (4:04PM)]: And no i dont wanna talk about it._

_[Felix :) (4:06PM)]: Yeah ok. U doing anything tonight?_

_[Dorian (4:10PM)]: Dunno yet. Wish u were here though. Could use a good talk._

_[Felix :) (4:13PM)]: Uh oh. Could look into doing a visit maybe. Been a while._

_[Dorian (4:15PM)]: Not if ur still feeling bad but could do._

_[Felix :) (4:19PM)]: Hols are in 2 weeks. Sound good? Should be good to travel._

_[Dorian (4:21PM)]: Thatd be good_

_[Felix :) (4:23PM)]: Will look into it tonight. Dinner at parents tonight so i better go. Tell Cullen hi for me._

_[Dorian (4:25PM)]: Yeah about that_

_[Felix :) (4:28PM)]: Oh shit. I can maybe get a TA to cover last week before hols. Text u tomorrow when i know._

_[Felix :) (4:30PM)]: take care of u_

Felix had stayed a week, which was about as long as they could stand each other in a small space. Dorian felt shitty for making his friend travel, sick as he could get, but it seemed like things were actually going okay on that front. They stayed up late, ordered takeout, talked about any and everything from work to parents to gossip to... relationships. Felix hadn’t really batted an eye when Dorian told him (albeit a very abbreviated version of) what happened. He’d simply put a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and said that bad things happened. They both knew that. It wasn’t really advice, it wasn’t anything Dorian didn’t already know, but it was nice to hear. In a way, anyway. It was nice to hear, from someone he trusted and didn’t pay, that it wasn’t his doing that had pushed Cullen to... well.

When Felix had left, Dorian had been a little more lost than usual. It had been nice to have that other presence there that made him feel less alone. Dorian hadn’t felt _lonely_ , and really lonely at that, in a very long time. He was lonely in his own head, stuck with all this guilt that was there no matter how many people told him it wasn’t his fault, and that got dangerous after a while. Dorian Pavus wasn’t a _lonely_ sort of person. People wanted to be around him. He was bright and charismatic and someone people _wanted_.

More than that, he _wanted_ people.

He wanted to not feel guilt and lonely and _angry,_ because the longer he was left to his own devices, the more anger worked its way into his heart. _Alone. I’m alone, and I didn’t even do anything wrong._ The thoughts were on repeat until he could find something to quiet them, whether that was wine or work or…

_I don’t HAVE to be alone._

It was easy to go back to. It was easy to pretend to be interested for a night so that he could blank out his mind. Except when it wasn’t. Then he went home alone and drunk and sad, only to miraculously show up to work on Monday like the two days alone with his thoughts didn’t happen. As far as anyone knew, he was perfectly functional. And he was. Mostly. Until he was alone.

Then he made sure none of them looked like Cullen.

\----

**Cullen’s Journal**

**Day 8**

It’s a bad day, ok? It’s a really fucking bad day and I just want to crawl in a hole and die. I don’t actually want to die, before you get the straps out and call the nightwatch on me. It’s just a bad day and everything hurts and I keep thinking that I want to go home… but then I remember that I don’t even have a fucking home to go to and I feel worse.

And I miss Dorian. I knew I would, but I didn’t know how much. And not knowing what’s going to happen after is torture and it’s so hard. Why is it so hard all the time? Can’t one fucking thing be easy? No. I make things hard. But I’m not supposed to think like that. “Negative self talk.” Bullshit. It’s the truth. I fuck things up and make them harder than they have to be just by being me.

Why wasn’t it enough? I wanted it to be enough. Finding love again. It should have been enough. Can I even be fixed? If I’m so far gone that finding someone who loves me didn’t stop it, can it ever be stopped?

I’m just so fucking angry and disappointed in myself. I let this happen. I wasn’t strong enough to stop it. I hurt everyone because I’m weak.

**Day 11**

True to his word, Cole made me read my journal entries out loud and talk about them. Which means I guess I’ll be reading these words to him at some point. Hi, Cole. These entries haven’t been pretty so far, but it’s hard to be positive when you can still barely hold a pen. I couldn’t even read some of that first entry.

We talked about my perception of myself. He suggested that maybe I’m holding myself to a standard that’s just unattainable, which is putting more pressure on me. Probably since I keep calling myself weak, but everyone has shit to deal with and somehow, they manage. Not everyone flips out and has a complete mental break and runs away to inject shit into their veins just to forget. I did. If that’s not weakness, I don’t know what is.

If I’m being honest, it feels stupid to be writing this. I know what I’m thinking, but this is supposed to be part of the healing process. Getting it out so it’s not in any more, as Cole said. No shit. Thanks, Dr. Obvious. Still, I have to give it to him, I do feel a little better after I write all this down.

I still miss Dorian. Of course I do, it’s only been, what, not even two weeks? But that can’t be my reason for trying. I tried to fix myself for other people - my family, him - and I failed. Badly. I have to do this for me. For me, and no one else. I’ve realized at least that much already. What I was doing before… that was never going to work.

We talked through my treatment schedule today. I have to go to group sessions, and I’m terrified, but Cole said I didn’t have to speak… at first. They’re going to want me to eventually, though and maybe it’ll get easier. Right now… I don’t know.

They do have a piano in the common room. I’m going to see if they’ll let me play it every now and then. It’s hard not having music to fall back on.

I haven’t heard from Dorian yet. I might write him a letter. I should. Just to let him know I’m… well, not fine, but better than the last time he saw me.

_Dorian,_

_I hope you’re doing well and eating more than cookies and coffee. You have a thing for them, as I recall._

_I haven’t been here long enough to get phone privileges, but I can write. In fact, that’s one of the things I have to do now. Keep a journal. That’s been interesting. Not sure how helpful it is, but it’s supposed to keep me from “internalizing,” as my doctor calls it. My own fault, since I didn’t talk to him at first, and I don’t really say anything in the group sessions. He’s so young, though. It’s offputting, you know? Even wants me to call him by his first name, Cole. Still, he seems genuinely friendly and like he really wants to help people, so I’m getting over it._

_I’ve been here two weeks now, and everything’s still kind of sore and stiff. I survived the first week somehow. I’ll spare you the details, but it was… shit, it was awful. This place is actually not bad though, and there was someone with me nearly the whole time trying to take my mind off it. It helped a bit._

_And now I have this whole routine I have to do. They have me doing yoga. Yoga. I kind of want to tell them to stick their salutation to the sun where it doesn’t shine sometimes, but it actually helps my back, so there’s that. And then there’s group, which just… I can’t. I’ve been hanging back in that and listening. Pretty soon, they’re going to want me to talk, though._

_But they do have a piano they let me play, so it’s not all bad. It needs to be tuned like you wouldn’t believe though._

_The people here are nice. Nonthreatening, caring. That whole thing. So far, they haven’t pushed me to do anything I don’t want to. I’ve had some really bad days, but they’ve been patient. I’m as comfortable as I can be, considering. You know, in case you worried about that. It’s nothing like what you had to go through. And I’m so sorry to even bring that up. I know it’s tough for you to hear about places like this. I just didn’t want you to worry about that. I’ve given you enough to deal with as it is. And I’m sorry for that, too._

_And I just… it’s only been two weeks, and I was out of my mind for almost half of that, but I miss you. So much. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. I know you are, but I just thought I’d say that. In case._

_It’s about time for my next thing, so I’ve got to run. I just wanted to give you an update and let you know that I’m thinking of you. I hope you’ll write back. It’s ok if you don’t, but I hope you do._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

**Day 15**

I wrote Dorian a letter. Just light stuff mostly. What I’ve been doing. Nothing super heavy. I don’t know if he actually wants to hear from me, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to hash out any of the deep shit in a letter. So I tried to keep it upbeat. Now I’m nervous that might… I don’t know… piss him off or otherwise upset him. I should have apologized more. I should never stop apologizing to him.

I know what we said, that we’d see when I got back, but he’s had time to think about what happened at this point. What I did. Who knows if he feels the same way now. As it stands, it’s pretty much done, so I wouldn’t blame him if he’s decided to just let that be it. Over. Past tense.

Love wasn’t enough to fix me. Maybe it’s not enough to make him see past everything I’ve done. I want it to be, but I don’t know anymore. I asked him to write back. We’ll see.

In the letter, I wanted to tell him that I love him. All I said was “I miss you” and “I’m thinking of you.” Not strong enough, but we’re not together, are we? I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. But it hurt. Fuck.

Other than that, things have been… well, ok, I guess. In some ways, it’s like summer camp, but then I remember I’m in rehab, for Maker’s sake. Still, they’re letting me poke around on the piano. It’s been a long, long time since I last played one, so it’s rusty, but I’m getting better. Music helps. It always has.

I guess this entry means I’m going to have to talk about Dorian next time, huh, Cole? Though if you’d like a piano lesson, I can do that, too.

\----

He’d waited a day to read the letter. On some level, he almost wondered if that panicked feeling was the same one that Cullen felt when Mia had sent that package. Dorian wondered if it was like a time bomb that was set to explode when he opened it. He’d expected scrawling pages detailing all the ways Dorian had failed. He’d expected Cullen to hate him, despite how it had been when they’d left. He’d expected to read a hundred different stories about how Dorian had pushed him away and forced his hand to run from him and go poison himself for a fucking week straight.

Dorian had put the letter on the table, the one between himself and his therapist, and didn’t say anything. He’d been fairly candid about his feelings, about his concerns and guilt and occasional anger, and now he was being candid that he was actually scared to open it.

_“What if he hates me?”_

_“What if he doesn’t?”_

_“It’s probably some... you know, twelve step program where they make you make amends.”_

_“That’s a pretty negative way to think about it. You promised to talk to each other, after all.”_

_“I can’t imagine why he’d want to talk to me at this point.”_

There had been a moment where Dorian had thought he’d be asked to open the letter and read it there. He hadn’t, thank the Maker, and when he’d gotten home he’d drawn a hot bath with bubbles and wine and candles and soaked for a couple of hours. When he got out, relaxed as he was, he felt more or less ready to read it.

It wasn’t what he’d expected, but in a good way. Sort of. It made his heart ache, which made some of that sour mood come back, but it seemed Cullen was _okay_. Not great, not that Dorian expected him to be, but he was _okay_.

_Cullen,_

_I’m glad to hear that you’re doing alright. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t worry. I mean, I trust the decision about going there and everything, but there’s always that irrational fear there. I don’t know. It’s stupid._

_Yoga and piano, though? You’re sure Mia didn’t sneak you into a spa instead? That was a bad joke. Sorry. I’m sure it’s not all mud wraps and sing alongs. If they’re making you keep a journal then it must be something... I don’t know. Good? When I started seeing someone, like someone for real, they made me keep one too. I remember hating it. I’d show up with entries that were one line because I was so bitter about having to do it. Then I started writing more and more. Maybe I should start doing it again._

_Maker, I’m talking too much about myself, aren’t I?_

_Things are... alright, I guess. Felix actually came to stay for a few days, which was nice. We managed a week before we started sniping at one another, which is pretty par for the course. He’s doing better, well enough to travel, so it was good to see him. I didn’t tell him too much, but he sends his love as well._

_I hope you get comfortable enough to get into a few things there. The talking is hard. It’s probably the hardest thing, but once you start it really does feel better. Like yoga for your emotions, maybe, where you have to stretch and ache a little for it to really help. Group stuff never really appealed to me, so I know what you’re saying, but maybe you should talk to this Cole. He’s not going to judge you. I know it’s hard to remember that sometimes, but it’s true._

_I miss you. I still feel really guilty and I get angry sometimes, which isn’t your fault, but I miss you. Nothing’s as good as it is when you’re around. I’m trying to take care of myself, though. I don’t know how good a job I’m doing, but... you know how it is. I just want you to be safe and to get better._

_Anyway, I should probably let you go. It was good to hear from you, and I’m glad it’s going as well as it can be. Stay strong, which I’m sure you hear a hundred times a day, and try to remember that I’m rooting for you. Hopefully it helps._

_Always,  
Dorian_

Writing his ex was difficult. It was more difficult than he thought it would be. While he’d been wondering if Cullen’s letter would be full of every terrible thing Dorian had ever done, he found it was hard to not do the thing he’d been so scared of. He wanted to demand answers, tell Cullen in no uncertain terms that he lay in bed and _burned_ with anger and anxiety sometimes for the worry and pain the man had put him through. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t put him through more.

Maybe one day they’d talk it all out. Maybe they’d get a chance to air their grievances, their hurt and pain, or maybe not. Maybe it didn’t matter.

\----

**Cullen’s Journal**

**Day 24**

Dorian wrote me back. They deliver the mail to your room, so I came in and there it was on my bed. Cullen Rutherford ℅ Haven Rehabilitation Center. That’s my address now. I just picked it up and looked at it for a while. Truth be told, I was scared to open it - however we left it, I did some horrible shit to him, and I just didn’t know. Did he hate me? Was this just going to tell me to forget it? To not write again? Those kinds of things all in my mind. I’m learning to control that sort of stuff, but it’s still hard.

But I opened it, finally, and it wasn’t anything like that. He says he’s ok, but he feels guilty and there’s anger there, too. He has absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. I tried to tell him that before I left. I guess it’s hard to take the word of a junkie. Which is what I am. I did that to him. Awful. I’m awful. Yet there was still a part of me that was glad to read that he at least misses me. Which is also awful. And I didn’t want to talk about it.

But I did. I finally told Cole all about it. About our relationship and how it started and the shit that happened and how it ended. I’m such a fucking baby, I cried in front of him. I’m crying now. It’s not fair. And I know I sound like a child stamping his feet, but it’s not. It occurred to me as we talked that maybe Dorian and I just met at the wrong time in each other’s lives. How fucking sad is that? To know you love someone, really love them, but also know it won’t work because you weren’t ready or healthy enough or whatever. I told Cole that, and he nodded. He said sometimes bad stuff like that happens, and it’s awful, but it’s life. I have to square with the fact that I could get out of here and be completely fine for the rest of my life… but that I hurt him too deeply for us to ever work again.

We also talked about what happened with that Frederic and then Rilienus. Turns out I’m still angry about that. Which isn’t a surprise since both times, I blamed myself completely, so I never really dealt with it. Which, ok, I wasn’t without blame in that first situation. I’d made assumptions and hadn’t talked about… anything with Dorian. But Dorian also played a part in that. He hadn’t spoken up about anything, either. He was content to assume as well.

Rilienus, though. That’s a different matter. I blamed myself there for just being who I am. I thought, “Of course Dorian would prefer someone else. I’m not good enough. I’m broken. I‘m just convenient.” Even after the pieces fell, I counted myself lucky that he was still with me. That whole thing though - none of that was about me. That was all Dorian and his issues. I have to stop thinking I’m worthless if I’m ever going to move on… with anyone, family, friends, whoever. I have to believe that I’m good enough.

Cole gently suggested that perhaps I’ve put Dorian up on some kind of pedestal where he can do no wrong. That maybe I thought myself so beneath him that it didn’t matter what he did, I’d still hold on. I’m not sure if that’s entirely accurate, but it did affect the way I responded. It seems wrong to still be… I don’t know... angry or hurt about either of those situations, considering how spectacularly I fucked up. But a relationship isn’t built on who owes whom for how much they’ve hurt the other. According to Cole, what I’ve done doesn’t invalidate how I feel about what’s been done to me. It’s not a game with points and a running score. It’s life.

And strange as it seems, not only is it unhealthy for me to put him up on a pedestal, it’s unfair to him. Unfair to expect him to be the magical thing that fixes me. Unfair to hold him to that standard. He’s human, too.

So, even if it is permanently done with Dorian, I have to remember that moving forward. With anyone. A relationship… a healthy one, romantic or not… it’s between two equals. It has to be, or it’s damaging.

Cole did ask me if I thought I’d try with Dorian when I got out. I owe him a chance to… unload maybe? React to what happened? We have to talk at some point, but I had to think a while before I could answer Cole. I love him. I miss him like crazy. But I had to think. l told Cole I want to try, but I’ll have to find a place where I can look at him without feeling like shit for what I’ve done or angry and hurt for what he’s done. He told me I was going to have to learn to trust myself before I could really trust Dorian. I’m not sure what he meant by that.

Either way, I should write back. I may have run out of things to say other than “I’m sorry,” though.

_Dorian,_

_I know it probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but you have no reason - no reason - to feel guilty. You can be angry all you want. I went off the deep end and drug you down with me - be angry at me about that if it helps. But, Maker, please don’t feel like any of this was your fault. It was always in there, waiting. And I’m learning to deal with it so I can recognize when it’s happening again and stop it, but it’s in me. Nothing you could have done would have stopped what happened. And don’t be upset about that - nothing anyone could have done would have stopped it. Only me. And I didn’t know how._

_But I’m learning. Cole doesn’t like prescribing medicine for… people like me. When I consider what put me here and how it started, I think that’s for the best. So I’m learning ways to redirect my thoughts and ground myself. I’m learning ways to cope and express things. I’m not there yet - I have a long way to go still, but I hope, you know. I have hope._

_I’m really glad that Felix came down. I wish… well, under other circumstances, I would have liked to have met him. But I’m glad you have someone to talk to who really knows you like that. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind it if you called him every now and then to talk instead of trying to text. And you can tell him whatever you want about what happened. Also, if you need someone in a pinch, you can always call Mia. I know she’s my sister, and that might be strange… considering… but she’s pretty reliable and doles out life advice like a pro. Just, in case you need someone._

_I’ll make sure to suggest that they add “mud wraps and sing alongs” to the list of activities here. I’m actually not kidding about the sing alongs. That’s a good idea._

_Again, take care of yourself. Don’t feel guilty. None of this is on you._

_I miss you._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

\----

The weeks stretched on, long and too quiet, and Dorian settled into the routine again. He woke less in the night, didn’t feel the waves of panic and anger as often, and found that things were... mostly normal again. He tried to keep his mind occupied, talked when he felt the need to, but just mostly floated through. Work went on, his personal time went on, and after a while he maybe started to feel... normal.

_"You’ve been trading letters for over a month. One every week or so, right? How are they going now?”_

_“Still... fairly routine. Sometimes we touch on deeper things. Sometimes not. I don’t really think it’s the time or way we should talk about any of it.”_

_“You’ll talk about it though? All of it? Eventually.”_

_“Maybe. Probably.”_

_“How’s your anger been lately? You’ve talked about it less.”_

_“I’ve been better occupied.”_

_“Oh? Work?”_

_“And other things.”_

_“So you’re still lonely?”_

_“I don’t like calling it that.”_

_“It’s still fresh, Dorian. You haven’t dated anyone seriously since I’ve known you and this is the first breakup you’ve had in...how long?”_

The loneliness was fading. Dorian was more apt to go out with Sera and Dagna of an evening, have more fun than sit there and scowl, and relaxed back into a social calendar like he used to have. It wasn’t that he’d necessarily missed them, but they were a... necessary end. Sometimes he needed what he needed.

Still, it felt good to get a bit of himself back. He wasn’t worrying all the time. He wasn’t on edge. Dorian was... okay. Not great, but okay. Sad. Sad was okay. Sad was normal, apparently, and Dorian could drown sad. People were sad all the time. People were sad and drowned their sadness in wine and questionable company all over the world. And he was _dealing_ with it, wasn’t he? He talked about the fact that he was sad. What else was there to do? Stay at home and just... wait for Cullen to get out?

He was sad, but he was dealing with it. Sad was okay.

\----

**Cullen's Journal**

**Day 34**

I’ve been here a month now. That’s hard to believe. I have a long way to go yet, but I'm feeling better. There have been some really horrible days, but I'm slowly learning to deal with them. I think.

**Day 39**

Mia came to visit today. That was actually really good. She brought my guitar, and they said I could keep it for the rest of the time I'm here. That actually… that means a lot. I can really play now… I was always better at letting shit out with music than talking, anyway.

Apparently, she went to Samson’s with Will to get my stuff from there. I guess he was on his best behavior, though, because she said he actually helped box things up… what little I have… and take it down to the truck. She said he asked how I was doing and said it was good that I was getting help. Part of me will miss him, even though he’s part of all this shit. I’ve known him since college. He tried to help when I ran into him after Ella died, even if the help was not at all what I needed. I don’t know. It’s just strange.

But I also got all the family updates today. Mia says that Rosie’s in Orlais studying… anthropology or something like it. Makes sense. She drug us to enough history museums when we were kids. She’s really happy there, though, and has been doing well. I’m happy for her. 

Apparently, Bran’s found someone. Mandy, I think her name was. They got engaged last month on a vacation to Antiva. Bran’s sons stayed with Mia while they were gone, so she had her hands full - Bran’s two and her own kids all under one roof. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them.

I've missed so much. There are family members I've never even met - I only saw Bran’s youngest once and Mia’s was born after I left. I can't let this happen again.

**Day 40**

I spoke in group today. I don't know. It felt like it was time. The topic was family, and I'm pretty sure Cole did that on purpose since Mia visited yesterday, but it was ok. It really was ok. No one laughed. Everyone listened. All I said was that I was awful to them and neglected them and didn't want to do that anymore, but the way Cole was smiling, you'd have thought I'd had some sort of major breakthrough.

Shit, after over a month of not talking at all, I guess it was.

I played for them when the session was over. One of the songs I picked up at the studio. Maker, I hope Garrett lets me back in. I'm supposed to be letting go of the old shit in my life, but that job was something I really loved. It was the only good thing I had.

Other than Dorian. But… that’s really complicated, and there’s nothing I can do about it from here. We’ve been writing. I have phone privileges now, but I don’t think I can hear his voice. I don’t know. I feel like a lot of what we might have to say to one another should be said in person.

**Day 45**

Cole asked me today why I thought I was so afraid of seeing my family. He wanted to talk about what happened that day when I relapsed. I told him. The entire time I was clean, I was always trying to be who I was before the drugs. I was a good man once, I said, strong and not scared of a damn thing. He'd never have done any of this. He'd never have hurt people he loved. I got emotional, angry. I cried. I asked him if he thought I could be that again.

He looked me dead in the eyes and said “no, but do you want to be?” I said of course I do. I want to be someone my family can be proud of. Someone who doesn't hurt those around him. And he said, “then you don't want to be that man. That man got you into this mess - he made the decisions that led you here.” He went on to say that was ok, everyone messes up, and I'll always be Cullen, I've always been Cullen. People change - what I am now is just a more experienced Cullen who's been through and done some terrible things, but is healing and trying to learn from his mistakes. He said I'm the same, but different, and that's growth. Everyone grows.

I'd never thought of it that way. Written down, it seems so obvious. I wasted so much time chasing a ghost. I'll have to think about it some.

**Day 51**

Today was a bad day. It's the anniversary of Ella’s death, and I started the day out just really angry. I took it out on everyone and thought some really nasty shit about myself. It was like the first few weeks again, and I was really working myself up. None of the things Cole taught me to to try and ground myself were working this time. I felt like a failure.

But I called Mia. I told her how I felt, and it didn't even matter what she said back, I already felt more in control. I talked about it in group, too, and that helped more. One of the women here… her husband had passed suddenly of a heart attack, and she understood a little of what I’d gone through. It helped to talk to her after. Just knowing that I wasn’t alone. Surprise. I guess that’s the point of group.

I’m starting to understand that bad days happen, and that's all they are. Bad days. Not a sign that I'm weak because I need to talk to someone or ask for help. Not a reason to throw in the towel.

It was just a bad day. I survived it by talking.

\----

_Cullen,_

_It was really rainy today and it made me think of that day we spent texting, do you remember? Just before I invited myself to your show at the bar. That was technically our first date-date wasn’t it? That little lunch at the cafe was more talking not at the station for the first time. Sometimes, I think about that look you gave me when I held your hand that first time._

_I know I didn’t do right by you sometimes, made some bad choices (because I can be a shitty person sometimes. I know that), and hurt you in the process. This isn’t the way I want to talk about all that, but you tell me not to feel guilty about everything, and I think about those things and how I just didn’t talk to you and like maybe those things pushed you._

_It’s kind of funny that you’re in treatment and talking to people now. Not that I think it’s funny, but I’ve had to tell my therapist about you and now I imagine you’ve had to tell yours about me. That kind of scares me, if I’m honest. I think I’m scared that maybe they’ll tell you I really am that shitty person and that you should stay as far away from me as possible. And then I’m worried that if someone else is saying it that it’s true._

_This letter’s turning out a bit depressing. Sorry. Maybe it’s the rain._

_I think it’s good you’re talking to someone though. Whether it’s Mia or Cole or...someone. Anyone. Someone who’s equipped to handle it without their own shit getting in the way. I was proud of you for deciding to go and get the help, and now I’m even more proud that you’re talking. Of anything, I think I’m mostly proud of you. More proud than I can remember being of someone._

_So I guess I’m writing this to tell you that. And to tell you that I’m sorry for the shit I put you through. I know that this might have been inevitable, but I’m still sorry for the things I did. You deserved better, **deserve** better, and you need to know that. _

_Maker, I miss you. I miss you so much. I know we ended things... well, we ended them. For until you got out and could get everything sorted. I know that. But I hope you know I’m thinking about you and I miss you. Things really aren’t the same without you here._

_Don’t tell anyone, but even a cocktail with an umbrella couldn’t quite make me smile like it should have. All I could think about was that you’d tease me for it and I missed it._

_Take care of yourself. Keep talking. I’m here for you._

_Always,  
Dorian_

They weren’t the same. Of course he’d known they wouldn’t be, but Dorian hadn’t counted on just how _empty_ it was going to feel. He made it a point to not pick anyone who looked like Cullen, since that felt more sleazy, because he didn’t want to feel like he was trying to replace the man he loved. He didn’t love these men. He hardly _liked_ them. They were the types he’d liked before: academic, snobby, spoiled. They could talk for hours about politics or business, but didn’t really have anything passionate about them.

Well, not unless you counted a few scratches and hickeys here and there. It wasn’t fun anymore. It was a way to get his rocks off and that was it.

He’d missed that closeness and that intimacy. He missed the way Cullen looked at him: all warm honey eyes and a smile that made Dorian feel like he was the most important person in the whole world. He missed big, warm hands running over him. He missed the way he could be completely uninhibited. Cullen encouraged him to be as needful and wanton and _passionate_ as he wanted to be. They never... fucked, he and Cullen. Not really. They could be a bit rough and fast, but it was never without that connection. Even when Cullen’s nails dug into his hips or shoulders, or Dorian pulled those beautiful curls, it was never _fucking_. They’d made love with an intensity Dorian hadn’t ever felt.

This, none of this, was like that. It was fucking. It was impersonal. And in all of that, Dorian realized that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted someone to _love_ him. He wanted _Cullen_ to love him.

_“I hurt him. I hurt him when I didn’t tell him the whole truth because I was worried what he’d think if I did. Then I promised I would and I really meant it.”_

_“So you’ll be truthful from now on? When you’re with someone?”_

_“I said I would be and I meant it.”_

_“That’s a big step forward. Why would you want to be completely truthful when you haven’t been in the past?”_

_“Because I owe it to whoever I’m... who I care about to be truthful to them. To think about them as much as I think about myself.”_

_“I think that’s a great sentiment to have.”_

\----

**Cullen's Journal**

**Day 55**

I got a letter from Dorian today.

I know I haven’t been writing much about him since I had that conversation with Cole several weeks back. It hurts a bit too much to think about him and what I’ve done. Even now, almost two months later, I think about telling him, screaming at him, what I did just to make him hate me so he’d leave me alone... and how he refused to do that. I told him, I told both of them, that they’d be better off without me. That the addict they saw in front of them was all I’d ever be. I think about that, and all I can do is hang my head and try not to fall into that old shame - not just for underestimating them, but also for underestimating myself.

Because, at the time, I truly believed that I wasn’t worth their attention. That they should have just let me leave and waste myself into oblivion.

And now, Dorian wrote me, and this letter was different than all the others. It was… it was more bare, more honest. He apologized for the things that happened between us before and he said that I deserved better. I read it 10 times in a row and then curled up in bed with the one shirt I have that still kind of smells like his house. The one I tucked away the second week I was here so I’d never wear it or wash it _because_ it smelled like his house. I curled up with that against my face and I cried. I have a damn headache now, but it felt good to let that out. As good as missing someone who’s part of your heart can feel, anyway.

He said I deserved better. And that he thinks some of the things he did added to whatever it was that pushed me. Now that I can look at things and be honest with myself, I know that what happened didn’t happen in a vacuum. The things that went down with Dorian weren’t separate from what finally happened with me. They were added to the bad stuff in my head and I never dealt with them in a way that was healthy, so they became part of the house of cards. Mia’s package was the wind that blew everything down.

If I’d met him after all this rehab and therapy, I’d have been able to deal with the things that happened in a healthy way. I’d have been able to process rather than holding on and letting them fester until all it took was some pictures of the past to destroy me. I wish… I wish I’d met him after this. Everything would have been different. But I can’t think like that.

All I can think about right now is how I want to go. I want to leave and find him and hold him and bury my face in his hair and kiss him until he’s not sad any more. Until he knows that, regardless of what he thinks I deserve, it’s him I want. It’s him I love.

But I'm not ready to leave. Just a little longer.

**Day 57**

Another bad day. Maker, two in one week. I thought I was getting better. And it was dumb. So dumb. I just didn't want to get out of bed - that’s all it was. Nothing caused it. I just laid there and thought about that week when I relapsed. I thought about what I did for that last dose. I still remember it like it just happened. From everything that went on that week, of course that's the only thing I really remember. My mind was sort of there then, I'd come down enough for that, but not enough to be able to fight it. To say “stop, this is fucking vile and not at all like you.” I _offered_. It was my idea to do what I did.

And then I told them. I remember how it felt hearing about Rilienus, and all Dorian did was get kissed and black out next to the guy. I can't even imagine how he felt when I was yelling at him, telling him that I...

For all the talk of being worthy and finding my self esteem again, it's hard to know I did something like that and still feel like anything I am or feel is valid.

I got up, though. I got up and went to yoga and then group, and I played afterwards like I do sometimes. I still feel bad... but I'm trying.

**Day 58**

I tried to talk to Cole about what I did. He didn't really want to discuss it, at least not that specific thing. He basically said, and I'm summarizing, “You were under the influence. It happened. It's in the past. All you can do is apologize to those you hurt, forgive yourself, and move on. It's up to them whether they'll accept it or not, you can't control their feelings - and they may not forgive you, but you have to be ok with yourself.”

I don't know if I can forgive myself for that. Ok, I snapped. I relapsed. Fine. I can kind of understand that. I've learned that addicts can be triggered for far less than what happened to me, and it's pretty common in the first two years. Two years. And even farther out into the future, I'll have to be careful. Addicts can relapse, especially if they're doing it alone, which I was. Ok. Maybe I can forgive myself for that. But what I did when I relapsed? That's going to take a while.

Then Cole went on about trust again. Trusting myself. He asked if I did, and I said I didn't know.

Though now, I think I know what he meant a while back about trusting myself before I can trust someone else. It's all tied together. Self worth and trust. If I can trust myself to do the right thing, I'll feel worthy. If I feel worthy, I'll trust myself to do the right thing.

I think what he said then was that I have to feel worthy and like an equal before I can really trust… anyone. Without projecting my own insecurity onto them. That makes sense now.

I'm not saying that'll be easy to do, Maker, I'm only human, but now I'm aware. If I get out of here and Dorian still wants me, I have to trust him, but actually make him accountable if he breaks that trust. I have to trust that I'm worthy of that level of respect. And he has to do the same with me - hold me accountable for the things I've done and stop feeling guilty.

And if it's over with him for good, I have to trust that I'll be able to deal with that. Maker, I don't want it to be over, but that could be the case. My chest hurts when I think about him and I just… I miss him.

You know, you always get fed the line that trust is so important in a relationship, and you accept it because of course it is. But I didn't realize until now how true that is. And that it has to go both ways.

**Day 60**

They’re starting me on the “learning to live when I get out of here” sessions. Maker, I don’t know if I’m ready to not be here. I had two really bad days just last week and… well, I just don’t feel ready. Cole said that I’ll never feel ready, that this place was meant to arm me with the tools I need to go out and live again, not to be a permanent solution. That it was sort of like having a broken leg. You go to the doctor, you get a cast and some crutches, and then they send you on your way to live your life. You can come back for check ups and physical therapy to make sure the bones are still healing and the muscles work right, but you don’t stay in the hospital until the bone is completely healed.

In other words, the only way to learn to live is to just go do it. But they aren’t casting me out into the cold alone. After I leave, apparently, I’ll come back for outpatient sessions, just to make sure I’m coping ok, and they’re going to set me up with a sponsor. I get to meet him next week and have a few sessions with him so we can get to know one another. His name is Anders, and I guess he’s been through something like this before.

I've been thinking a lot about Dorian since his letter. I've started a response a million times, but nothing feels right. I need to reply though. I can't have him thinking I don't want to hear from him. I do. I really do.

_Dorian,_

_I'm getting out of here soon. In 10 days. It feels like I've been here forever and that I haven't been here long enough all at the same time. Cole says I'm as ready as I'm going to be, but Maker, it's a terrifying prospect to have to go back out there and rebuild. I can do it now, I trust that I can, but that doesn't make it any less scary._

_I'm sorry it's taken me so long to send a reply. I think about everything that happened, and it's just a jumbled mess of emotion. I know you're sorry for what happened, though. I hope you can accept that and stop feeling like you're to blame. I wasn't healthy enough to really deal with it then, so if I'm honest - and I have to be - I never did. I just let it sit and eat at me. And that's not your fault. All you had to go with was what I said. I said I was ok. I thought I was ok. I acted like I was ok. It's not your fault that I wasn't. _

_Cole has never once said you're a shitty person. Nowhere close, so stop worrying. So he had the full picture, I did let him know some of the things that happened to you, too. Just the broad strokes, but he looked sad and actually cursed and said that people who ran places like that were evil. I've never heard him get angry. But he was angry. I get angry about it, too, when I think about it._

_But you're not a shitty person. You're a good person who's had shit happen to him, and you're doing the best you can in the face of that. Whatever happens when I get out, I hope you can remember that and let go of the guilt you carry around. I'm working on that, too._

_And I miss you. More than I can say. Sometimes, I think of the night you came to my show and the time you got me out of jail, and how you just… took me in, even though I was such a complete mess. You'll never know how important that was to me. And sometimes, I think of how you would steal my hair bands and laugh with that little smirk of yours and the creases at the corners of your eyes and I just… I miss you. I miss what we had when it was good. I miss what we had when it wasn’t so good. Because you have to take the good with the bad, and that's ok._

_I'm rambling now. I've gotten so used to writing whatever I'm thinking in my journal. Sorry if this is hard to follow._

_I miss you and… whenever it happens, I'll see you then._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

_PS: Don’t you tell anyone, but I’ve grown fond of the cocktails with the umbrellas in them. I’ll deny it with my dying breath and still tease, but there it is.  _

**Day 68**

I can’t believe I’m leaving here in two days. I still don’t feel like I’m ready, but I called Mia and set everything up. I’ve been meeting with Anders, too, and he seems nice. A little quiet, but he gets it. He knows what it’s like to feel like you’ve fucked up and need to find a little… forgiveness? Redemption? Either way, I like him. When I get out, I’m to call him if I feel myself getting triggered. By anything, no matter how small. Because the small things add up, and you know I just let that shit eat me up if I keep it in.

For the next two weeks, I’ll be coming back every other day to talk to Cole about how I’m adjusting. If I need to keep coming back, they’ll figure that out then. I… well, I think I'll miss our daily talks. As much as I hated them to begin with, I look forward to them now and… well, he's a good sort. I was lucky to end up here with him. And I think I'll keep up with this journal. I've never had one before, but it helps. It really does.

Still, even with all this support, it’s terrifying. To try and pick everything back up and piece a life back together. But I’m going to do it. I can do it. I know that.

I called Garrett the other day, just to say hello and thanks for everything he did. He hinted that I should come see him when I’m up for it. Maker, I hope that means I haven’t burned that particular bridge. That job was sent by Andraste herself. It’s what I want to do.

As for Dorian... I don’t know. I really don’t. I want to go see him as soon as I get out of here, but maybe I should make sure I’m really ok on the outside before... Anyway, it seems like he misses me, too, but I'm still scared. And I think it's ok to be scared, as long as I don't let it control me. I'm learning where the line between “justified caution” and “frozen in fear” is.

However the conversation with him goes, it’s going to be painful. I know that. He didn’t get time to react when everything went down. He didn’t get time to process - he had to make sure I was ok and then I was gone only a few hours after. I owe it to him to give him a chance to talk about it, if he wants to talk to me at all. I know now that I'll always love him. The time we spent together - it was intense. The bad, but also the good. He's made a permanent impression on my heart. But I also know that it might not work out, however much I want it to. Because I have to respect myself enough to walk away if… well, if it comes to that. And he has to have that same respect for himself, too.

I’m keeping this ring though. Whatever happens, what we had was important. He’s important. He’ll always be important to me. And the ring reminds me of where I’ve been and that there’s hope for the future, if I just keep trying. So it’s mine now. Mine like all the memories and the mistakes and the lessons I’ve learned. It’s good to have a reminder of that. 

**Day 70**

Last day. Mia's going to be here in an hour.

It’s scary, but I’ll be ok. I am who I’m meant to be. I don’t have to be anyone other than that.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	31. D.C. al Fine [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian stays busy with work, Cullen adjusts to life outside the center, and both wonder when.

There was a line in a movie somewhere, or perhaps Dorian had only come up with it in his head in a haze of too much coffee and not enough sleep, that was something about “call me when your entire life is going up in flames, that means it’s time for a promotion.” He’d laughed at it then, whatever the story was about some up and coming young thing who had to work a hard job with a boss they didn’t like. In context, it had seemed almost ridiculous, a throwaway line for a trailer, but the longer he was in the professional world the more he kind of understood it.

Granted, his entire life going up in flames wasn’t _because_ of work. Work, ironically enough, was an island among the ocean of shit. He could go there, do his job and do it well, and forget that everything else was going on. It wasn’t that he drowned himself in it, not any more than he did usually, but he did put a bit more of himself in than he might have six months ago. It didn’t go unnoticed.

 _Dorian Pavus_  
Master of Collections  
University Liaison to Orlais

The business cards looked good. Josephine had done well. The font was tasteful, practical, but with just enough panache for Dorian’s own sense of drama. He was pleased. They were all pleased. It meant he worked more with the academic side, the historical side, than just appraising Granny’s watercolors to help pay for a new house. That was what Dorian had wanted, after all. And he’d gotten it, after a lot of work and... well, personal struggle.

He hadn’t heard from Cullen in some time, but the truth of it was that Dorian was busy enough that the time melted away. There were collections to see to, accounts to transfer over, and a short trip to Val Royeaux to do the professional acceptance of the position. In a way, he not only worked for Nightingale Auctions Ltd, but he was essentially a staff member of the University of Orlais. They had a huge amount of art, both historical and aesthetic, and it kept him busy.

Busy was good.

Busy let him not think. Busy let him act and maybe sort of try on the things he’d _said_ he’d do instead of just talk about them. Busy gave him an outlet for his anxiety, despite the stress, and he found he slept better than he had in two and a half months. It didn’t leave him the time for the social calendar he’d been trying to cultivate again, save for a few nights with Sera and Dagna or Josephine and Leliana here and there, but that suited him.

That social calendar didn’t really end up working for him, anyway.

But Cullen was out, now. At Mia’s. He’d gotten that last letter from Cullen and a call from Mia the day she was going to pick him up saying his inpatient time was over. He’d made the right sounds, asked questions, and mostly navigated everything in what he hoped was a decent enough way. She’d asked if maybe he wanted to come for dinner, maybe not that night but eventually, and Dorian had... declined, much to Mia’s surprise.

If Cullen was out and trying to get his shit together, then Dorian didn’t want to pop up and cause any issue. He remembered what it was like to be unceremoniously dumped back in the real world after a traumatic (good or bad, really) situation, and putting unneeded pressure to talk or even just _see_ someone that stirred up a lot of complicated emotions could be trouble. That, and Dorian wasn’t so sure he was ready either. Of course he missed Cullen, missed him every day, but the thought of having to see him made something clutch hard in his chest in a way he wasn’t so sure he wanted to deal with yet.

So, he figured, that if or when Cullen was ready he’d talk to him. Whether that was a phone call, text, letter, whatever... Dorian would let him make that move. He’d been the one to push in the past, the one to ask him out, hold his hand, everything, but this needed to be at Cullen’s comfort level. His own was still a bit shaken too, and hopefully more time existing in the Real World for them both would help somehow. Hopefully.

So he’d wait. Besides, it wouldn’t do for Cullen to try to get in touch with him and him have to do a trip to Orlais. The last thing he wanted was for Cullen to think he was avoiding him. He wasn’t. Not really. This was for the best, and he could only hope that this time his “for the best” was actually the right thing to do.

\---

“You've been home a week now,” Cole stated from across the table that served as his desk.

“I have. It's been… mostly good so far. It's only been a week though,” Cullen answered and sat back into the chair he'd spent so much time in for the past 10 weeks. It felt strange, knowing that when he was done here, he'd be getting a taxi back to Mia's rather than heading back to his little room or going to group. He missed… the safety of this place, but he was glad to be with Mia now. She'd picked him up a week ago, all smiles and hugs and happy tears and brought him back to her place.

The kids had just started spring break. Well, Gwen had, Seth was 4, so he tended to do whatever his big sister did. Will was away, he'd been called into active duty for the Wardens, so Mia said that Cullen's return was Maker-sent. She needed the help, apparently, and Cullen was glad to do whatever he could for her.

_“This is your uncle Cullen, kids.”_

_“Hey guys. I hope you don't mind me staying with you for a while?”_

_“What's wrong with your lip?”_

_“Seth! That's not nice!”_

_“It's ok, Mia. Seth, I was in an accident.”_

He'd knelt down to talk to the boy, face to face. Seth was the spitting image of Mia, with his wild yellow curls and curling smile, save for the wide blue eyes that were trained on Cullen, those were all Will. Cullen smiled at the boy.

_“Does it hurt?”_

_“Well, it did, for a very, very long time. But it doesn't now. Not so much.”_

The boy had patted Cullen's scruffy face with his chubby little toddler hands. In truth, the injury that had caused the scar faded quickly, but everything else surrounding it… yes, that had hurt for years.

_“You can stay, but you have to play flying puppy patrol with me.”_

Cullen cocked an eyebrow at his smiling sister and she let him know that was a tv show he was taken with. Cullen grinned at the boy then and agreed to his terms, and that was how he'd found himself chasing after a 4-year-old, puppy figurine in hand, 20 minutes after getting back from rehab. Of all the things he could have been doing, that was actually… fun.

Gwen had been harder. He doubted she remembered him, or maybe she did, he didn't know when kids started holding on to things, but she'd eyed him warily and just nodded. That was ok, some things would take time. And he had it now.

Later that first evening, after Gwen had gone to bed and Cullen had helped give Seth his bath and get him tucked in with his many, many puppy figurines, he'd collapsed on the couch.

_“How are you holding up?”_

_“Good, actually. That was… fun.”_

_“Thank the Maker. Looks like Seth has a new best friend. I can take a break. Watch out, though. He'll have you going.”_

_“Going is good.”_

_“Listen, you should know… I called Dorian on the way to get you. I didn't know if I should tell you, if it would… upset you.”_

_“Go ahead, Mia. I'm fine.”_

_“I asked if he wanted to do dinner. Not tonight, just sometime. He said no.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Oh, Cullen, I'm so sorry. I'd thought…”_

_“No. It's alright. I hurt him. A lot. I didn't think he'd want to see me for a while.”_

But, Maker, that had burned. Dorian wouldn't even commit to a vague “maybe let's have dinner sometime.” Cullen’s jaw had clenched and his heart had dropped, but it made sense. Letters were all well and good, but they were a far cry from seeing someone in person. And Cullen had never brought himself to call Dorian in all that time, even though he never lost his phone privileges. So he got it. He understood.

And now he was here with Cole, at his second outpatient session. Those blue eyes were as intense as always, and never missed a thing.

“Something’s bothering you. Care to share?’ Cole asked and rested his chin on a balled fist.

For a moment, Cullen considered passing. Would they make him come back if he had issues only a week out? It didn't matter. He needed to talk about it. “It's… well, Dorian. Mia asked him if he wanted to do dinner at some point, and he turned her down,” Cullen relented with a sigh.

“And why do you think that is?”

“Because he doesn't want to see me. Not yet. Maybe not ever,” Cullen shrugged. He suddenly felt very heavy. “I can't say that I blame him. What I did… it was hurtful. To everyone, but maybe to him most. Before I even relapsed, I broke a promise we'd made to speak up if something bothered us. I broke his trust.”

Cole nodded, “And if he never wants to meet back up?”

“It's a consequence. Of what I did. I'll be… sad, but I'll understand. I figure I should give him time. Wait for him, maybe?” Cullen looked to Cole for approval, but the young man just cocked an eyebrow.

“You can't know what he's thinking unless you ask,” he replied.

“I know, but I also don't want to… pressure him. I want the air cleared. I want to… to _know_ , one way or the other, but it might be too soon even to ask that.”

“There's a fine line between…”

“Yes, I know. Justified caution and frozen in fear. I'm not at that line yet, I promise. And if I get there, if it gets to be too much, I'll reach out to you or Anders. I'm not… as hard as it is to say… I'm not jeopardizing a relationship with my family for this.”

Cole smiled and nodded at that. “And if not knowing gets to be too hard?”

“I'll find him.”

\----

He’d only just gotten in from another three day trip to Val Royeaux. Dorian didn’t so much enjoy the flying and the issues that came with it, but the trip itself had been alright. He was tired now, though. Another week, more work, and a silent phone made him want to do nothing more than have a long soak and try not to think.

By his estimation, Cullen would have been home almost a month. It wasn’t that long of a time, in all reality, but the longer it went without a word the more he wondered if there was ever going to _be_ one. At what point did he switch from “giving him time” to “he doesn’t want to see me”? It wasn’t some magical equation, one that divided how long they were together in half or something else equally stupid, but he felt like there had to be a point where he needed to accept that Cullen probably wanted to move on. Dorian couldn’t blame him for that.

He didn’t even know if Cullen had his phone anymore. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he got rid of it and had a new number and everything else, and the only way Dorian could possibly get in touch with him was to call Mia. How embarrassing would that be? Never once in his life had he ever had to do the whole “Hi, this is Dorian, is... uh, X around?” thing with parents. Now he could only imagine what it would sound like: “Hey, it’s Dorian, I was wondering if your traumatized brother might want to talk to me even though I’m sure it would be terribly uncomfortable because it’s been a few months. Is he home?”

That didn’t stop him from pulling up Mia’s number and staring hard at it, though. His thumb hovered over the _call_ button. What would he even say? What if Mia told him to fuck off and not bother any of them again? He couldn’t really blame her either.

So he put the phone down, poured himself a glass of wine, and contemplated what to do before work in the morning. Thinking about all that had soured his already crappy mood, and he didn’t want to deal with it. Maybe that bath was a good idea. At least then he could read or listen to music and not fill his head with all the ways he should just... accept that maybe Cullen didn’t want him anymore.

He had a fulfilling life, after all. He had a good job and friends, and had navigated being single. He could do it. Maybe it wasn’t what he _wanted_ , but he’d said before that Cullen needed to sort his own shit out first. That was the most important thing. And if, apparently, it meant Cullen wanted nothing to do with him, then he needed to push it all away from where it crowded in his head and let it happen. Dorian’s life wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was stable. He could figure it out if he had to.

\---

_“Cullen, you're going to be fine. You have a family who loves you, and if you need me, you know where I am. Go out! Start living your life again!”_

Cole’s last words to him etched themselves on Cullen's mind. _Start living your life again._ They were both terrifying and exhilarating - freeing. From the moment Ella died until Cullen walked out of Haven Rehab for the last time as a patient, he'd only been living a half life, shrouded in fear and his insecurities and his sickness. Now that he had the means to fight back, finally, he could… Maker, he could really _live._

And he got busy doing just that. From his last session with Cole, he'd texted Mia to not wait for him, and he took the train downtown to see Garrett. He'd spoken with the man since he came back, but he'd not had the courage to ask for his job back. Now, bolstered by Cole’s words, he was on his way to do just that, in person. There was a moment's worry that maybe this was too much too soon, but Cullen decided that was fear talking. He wanted to work. He wanted to be useful again. He wanted to live - no waiting.

Garrett had stopped what he was doing to come out and meet with Cullen. He ignored Cullen's outstretched hand and pulled him into a great bear hug, laughing.

_“Maker, it's good to see you man! You look great.”_

_“Heh, it's good to see you, too, Garrett.”_

_“Love the hair. You're gonna be colder come winter, though.”_

_“I'll invest in a hat. How are… things? Busy?”_

_“Shit yeah, man. We've gotten so much more business since that Merrill hit it big. She used that cut with your harmony. Have you heard it? Fucking amazing.”_

_“That is amazing. Glad that crazy, what was it, almost 3 weeks? Glad it paid off.”_

_“Yeah, that was a tough one. It's been rough around here for a while, actually. We've been, ah, shortstaffed.”_

Garrett had winked at Cullen then, and his heart soared. It had taken all his willpower to not leap at the man and beg. Instead, he cracked a smile of his own.

_“Have you now? That's too bad.”_

_“Come on man, don't make me beg. If you're up for it, I need some help, like yesterday.”_

Cullen had clapped the man on the back and smiled. Of course he'd come back. They worked out a schedule, keeping it light at first, but Cullen left feeling… almost like a new man. He wasn't sure how he'd found such wonderful people when he was in such a bad place, but he sent up a thanks to Andraste as he made his way out of the studio to head back to the train station.

He walked down the steps and tried not to remember the time Dorian showed up, frantic to find him after Rilienus. He walked down the sidewalk and tried not to look down that alleyway where he and Dorian had once taken a few moments to be together in the midst of an awful week. He failed both times and a heaviness settled on him. There had been no word from Dorian in the past week. Maybe he needed more time. But, since he was in town…

Cullen grabbed his phone and unlocked it as he twirled that ring he wore around his left thumb absently. His home screen - he hadn't changed it since they gave him his phone back after rehab. It was one of the many couple selfies Dorian insisted they take. Dorian himself had made this Cullen's home screen, and it made Cullen smile now, despite the choked feeling it gave him.

_I'll give him more time_

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of activity. Gwen had a school project that he offered to help with, and he was delighted to finally break the ice there as they bonded over a mutual love of _horses_ , of all things. He helped Mia around the house and in the yard. He worked. He stayed busy, and for the most part, he really couldn't be happier. His life was slowly starting to come back together. He felt comfortable in his own skin for the first time since that awful, rainy day had taken his wife from him.

But at night, when all was dark and it was just Cullen alone with his thoughts, he knew something was missing. He read the letters Dorian had sent him. He wrote in his journal, twisting that ring. He wondered. _When will it be enough time? Is this silence my answer?_

Almost a month now since he'd gotten out of rehab, and Cullen was up late, rereading the journal he'd written during treatment. He found it… comforting in an odd way to have a concrete record of his journey. In his words, he could see how he slowly changed, how he slowly grew, while he was there. He found it helped him on bad days, just to see how far he'd come.

He made it to the second to last entry, and one phrase caught his attention.

_I’m keeping this ring though._

Dorian had told a story when he gave it to Cullen. About some haunted hero going off on a quest to better himself, and his lady fair giving him a token to remember her by. But there was more to it than that, wasn't there? The token in the story was a promise that the hero would return to her. He would come back and

_And when you’re done and you’re ready… you come find me again._

Cullen groaned as he remembered those words.

That day had been an awful blur. He'd lost a lot of it by the time all was said and done and the drugs were fully out of his system. But that… how could he have lost that? Dorian had told him then what to do. To come find him when Cullen was ready. Not to sit and worry for a month. Not for Mia to call him. He told _Cullen_ to find him.

Pale hands ran over a scruffy jaw and then up through hair that had grown longer in the past almost 4 months as a slow smile spread.

_I just have to go find him. Then, at the very least, I'll have my answer. Just find him. But how…_

But Cullen had an idea. He wasn't always good with words, and often stumbled over them awkwardly when it mattered.

But he wasn't going to use _words._

_\----_

The rest of the week had gone about like Dorian had expected. It was busy but quiet. He was tired. That trip had taken it out of him, and now that he had the weekend, and he was looking forward to just... well, probably working from home. At least that meant sweat pants, takeout, and doing his work from the couch. It was a lot better than having to get up and dressed and go.

He’d tucked most everything in his bag before he’d left the office and paused as he looked down at his phone. That picture of he and Cullen was still his home screen, and Dorian sighed. Maybe it was time to change that. There was still nothing, not that he was surprised, and Dorian shook his head as he tucked his phone in his pocket and started toward the train station. Today was going to be a coffee before he went to wait kind of day, he had a feeling. Something hot and sweet would make him feel better, after all.

Every time, though, he thought about that first day. He thought about the long weeks he’d come down and see Cullen on the platform with his guitar. They didn’t always talk, more a nod here and there, but he’d already been a presence in Dorian’s life. He missed that. He missed the music and the little happy feeling he had when he knew Cullen would be there. Always, Dorian tucked his earbuds in his ears and tried not to think too hard about it. If he did it would usually mean a long night and a finished bottle of wine in front of whatever movie he could find.

When he got his coffee and resettled everything back into his bag, Dorian sighed. The same platform, Platform Three, and the timestamp saying he had about ten minutes to wait. Wonderful. He took a breath, took a long drink from the steaming cup, and made for the stairs. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too crowded.

\--

_‘Hey, Mia, I’m headed into town.”_

_“You look nice. Important client at work today?”_

_“No, I’m not going to work. I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll text you if I’m late.”_

_“Cullen, what’s going on?”_

_“It’s… it’s been long enough. I’m going to see if he’ll talk to me.”_

_“... Go get him, big brother.”_

Mia had smiled and smacked his shoulder as he left. Cullen had felt confident about the plan he cooked up the previous night. He felt confident as he got ready to leave - fussing with his hair and agonizing over what he should wear like a teenager on a first date. He felt confident in the cab that took him to the train station.

Now that he was here at _Dorian’s Station_ , he was anything but confident. He was a bundle of raw nerves. Suddenly, what he’d decided to do seemed… maybe it was too sentimental? Maybe it was too much for what they were now, which wasn't really _anything,_ was it? What if Dorian really didn’t want to see him? Maker, what if Dorian didn’t even take the train anymore? Cullen hadn’t even considered that. He assumed Dorian’s routine had remained the same, but it had been months now, and maybe it hadn’t. _Shit. Well, if he doesn’t show, I can still try other ways. Calm down, Rutherford. Either it will work out or it won’t._

So he got there early. Well, he got there earlier than Dorian usually got there - he showed up at about the same time he always did, back when this was all he did. He spied a pillar near where he used to set up that would keep him mostly out of sight, but still give him a decent view of the platform… should Dorian appear.

His heart was in his throat as he set his guitar case on the ground and unsnapped it. His stomach was somehow both clenched and fluttery as he pulled the guitar out and shouldered it. He was lightheaded as he made sure it was in tune.

And then he waited. Some passersby looked at him expectantly, but he paid them no mind. His eyes were focused on the stairs that led down to the platform. _Please. Please be coming._

He looked at his phone every two minutes. It was about that time, and his hands were shaking so badly, he didn’t even know if he could play now. _Please come. I need to see you. Please._

And there he was on the stairs and the breath caught in Cullen’s throat and his eyes pricked hot. The evening crowd faded into the background and all he could see was just… Dorian. All the shit that had happened, all the horrible things they’d both done, none of that mattered in that moment. He was looking at the man he loved for the first time in months, and all he felt was just relief and happiness and a jittery excitement that washed over him.

He watched as Dorian came down the steps, coffee in hand like old times, and took his usual spot to wait for his train. For a while, he was so caught up in the thought _It’s him. He’s here. He’s right there._ that he forgot everything else. His memories… his memories hadn’t done the man justice and he ached for want of just taking him into his arms like nothing had ever happened. That thought pulled Cullen out of the moment, though. He couldn’t do that. Things had to be settled. Things had to be weighed and sorted and discussed. They had a decision to make.

But first, he needed to get the man’s attention.

Cullen played a quick chord progression, just to steady his hands. _I can do this._ He stepped out from where he’d been hanging back, moved to the spot he’d spent so many hours playing and looking forward to Dorian’s presence, took a breath, and started to play.

The song he’d chosen… he didn’t know if Dorian would remember it or not. He hoped he would.

 _We'll do it all  
_ _Everything  
_ _On our own_

 _We don't need  
_ _Anything  
_ _Or anyone_

 _If I lay here  
_ _If I just lay here  
_ _Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

 _I don't quite know  
_ _How to say  
_ _How I feel_

 _Those three words  
_ _Are said too much  
_ _They're not enough_

 _If I lay here  
_ _If I just lay here  
_ _Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

Cullen watched Dorian as he sang. The man stood there, shuffling a bit and sipping coffee as he waited. He wasn’t turning. _Maker, he’s not turning. Can he not hear me? Or does he hear me, and that’s how much he doesn’t care? Am I making a fool of myself here? Please, Maker, please let him turn._

He kept going; he kept singing and he kept praying. 

\----

It had been a long time since there had been music on the platform, so Dorian had always just turned his on and left it at that. He never kept his volume up _that_ high just case there was a delay and he missed the inevitable garbled message about it, though. This time, where it should have just been his own, there was something clashing. He frowned, looked down at his phone, then pulled out one earbud to hear... Maker, _another_ busker? Dorian didn’t think his heart could handle another one. It made him feel sick to think that he’d come down there every day and have to hear and see someone who wasn’t

_Cullen._

Dorian’s eyes widened and it was a quick fumble that saved his phone from crashing to the ground as he lost the ability to hold on. He went numb as he watched for a long moment. Was he dreaming? Was this some stress induced hallucination that was playing on his sadness? He’d only just been thinking about this, after all. Suddenly he couldn’t hear or see anything else. It was just... Cullen. Standing there. Playing the guitar. It was like the first time Dorian had ever seen him, complete with the one earbud stuffed in his ear as he looked on.

His breathing picked up as he stumbled forward. Honestly, Dorian wasn’t so sure that this wasn’t some hallucination. Though the man in front of him wasn’t the one Dorian had known before. He looked the same, sort of, but that wasn’t... Maker, that wasn’t the man he’d waved goodbye to months ago. Quickly, he pulled the other earbud out of his ear and tucked his phone in his pocket. He moved like his body wasn’t even his, like his feet and his brain weren’t even connected, and his other hand dropped the still half full cup of coffee in a trash can that was close by. He closed the distance between them, one that felt both way too short and like miles at the same time, and just... stood there. Stood there and watched. And listened.

Something in him was cracking. He’d managed to hold it together, for the most part, for this long. Dorian had only cried a few times and swallowed it down otherwise. Now? Now he could actively feel something breaking in his chest, and Dorian’s eyes went wet and red as he wrapped his arms around himself and watched. He knew that song. He remembered the night Cullen had sang it to him on his couch and he’d been so stunned he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do _now_ either.

So he listened. He listened and lifted a hand to dab at his eyes in the hopes of not smearing his eyeliner halfway down his face. He met Cullen’s eyes and felt that something breaking in his chest just _go,_ and it took everything he had not to double over on himself and sob. This was real. This wasn’t some hallucination. Cullen was there and playing and Dorian was very quickly trying to wrap his head around whether or not this was another... Maker, was he busking for a job again or was this for _him_?

\---

Dorian turned. Praise the Maker, he turned and he _saw_ him. Cullen's fingers stumbled over the notes and his voice broke, but he kept playing. He sang as he watched that wash of emotion move across Dorian's face. He sang as Dorian took the first steps toward him. Cullen sang as he looked into those grey eyes, more beautiful than he remembered and just as full of tears as his own. He sang.

But he didn't finish the song. That wasn't important. He wasn't here playing for tips. He was playing for _him_ \- for Dorian, and now he was here, actually here in front of him, and it was Cullen's chance to say what he came to say. He removed his guitar and carefully leaned it against the wall. He wanted to face Dorian fully. He didn't want to hide behind anything, not even his guitar. He was done hiding things.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he turned back to Dorian, and his tongue felt thick and dumb. But he had a question to ask, and he might not get another chance.

He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, meeting Dorian's gaze and never looking away as he spoke.

“I was thinking,” he started with a voice thick with the tears that were threatening, “... this is where it started. Maybe,” he licked his lips and swallowed, “... maybe, if you feel the same, it could be where it started over. Maybe we could… try again?”

Cullen felt his knees begin to shake as he waited to see. As he waited for an answer.

_Maker, please. At least talk to me._

\----

Dorian covered his face with his hands for a long moment as he tried to get himself together. This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t. This was real and it was happening and this time it was his turn to be put on the back foot. Normally he hated that, absolutely hated it, but he couldn’t be mad at this. How could he be angry when Cullen was _standing there_ and _talking to him_?

He took a shaking kind of breath, wiped at his eyes again, and swallowed before he looked back up at Cullen. Dorian opened his mouth to speak, tried to make something smart and dazzling come out, but he had to shut it when nothing came. He tried again, tried to say everything he’d wanted to say for months, but it was all too much and his throat felt way too small.

So he didn’t try to say something deep and profound. Not yet. Instead he reached out and grabbed Cullen by the front of the shirt and pulled him into a hug. Dorian wound his arms around Cullen’s shoulders and hugged him tightly, as tightly as he could, as he pressed his cheek in against the other man’s. “Maker, just hug me for a minute,” he breathed.

\----

Cullen thought he'd been holding it together fairly well. He stumbled over the song, but he'd managed, even with Dorian's eyes on him. He'd stammered a bit over the words, but he hadn't dropped his gaze or broken down.

This. This was… there was no holding it together now, not with the way his senses were completely filled with the one thing he knew he was missing. Arms around him, that scent that managed to be both deep and mysterious and light at the same time, warmth pressed against him, that voice in his ear. The tears he'd been holding back since he saw Dorian coming down the stairs came and he wrapped his arms around the man's waist, tangled his hands in his shirt, and held on for dear life.

Dimly, he was aware that what he'd done was exceedingly public. There were eyes on them that, under other circumstances, would have embarrassed him. None of that mattered. There was just… Dorian.

“I missed you,” he said as he nuzzled his face in against Dorian's neck. “So _damn_ _much_ , I missed you.” It was all he could manage, so he just held on. He'd already had to let go once, he'd already had to walk away. Even if it was his own fault, even if it was a choice they'd both made, it had been bitter misery. So, for now, he didn't want to think of the hard questions that would be asked later, didn't want to think that soon, he'd be held accountable for his actions - as he should be. For now, he'd keep holding on as long as Dorian would let him.

\----

One hand smoothed over Cullen’s back, and Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, “I missed you too,” Dorian answered against that soft blond hair as he held him tightly. He held the other man for a long few moments and took in just how good it felt to have that warm bulk wrapped around him. It had been entirely too long since he’d felt it, and Dorian held on for dear life while he just breathed Cullen in with all he had.

After a long moment, though, Dorian lifted his hands to cup Cullen’s face and lifted his chin so they were looking at each other. The man that looked back at him was so different than the one Dorian had known. There wasn’t that bolt of fear at the back of his eyes anymore, and he looked... rested. Those dark circles under his eyes didn’t look nearly so bad, and it looked like those curls Dorian had mourned were starting to come back now. Still, this wasn’t the same Cullen.

And Dorian didn’t find that to be a bad thing in the least.

“Let me have a look at you,” he teased warmly as he brushed his thumb over Cullen’s still slightly scruffy cheek. That hadn’t changed, obviously, but Dorian wasn’t sure he wanted it to. He’d come to expect and miss that light scratch against his cheek or neck or... well, other places. “You look... Maker, you look _great_ ,” he breathed, “and you’re _here_.”

\----

One corner of Cullen's mouth hitched up in a lopsided grin as he wiped at his eyes. His hands settled back at Dorian's hips, not wanting to break contact for long. Or ever.

“Likewise, on both counts,” he replied before that crooked smile melted into something softer, more serious, “It's been so long… I thought maybe you didn't… wouldn't want to see me. But then I remembered what you said when you gave me this,” and he raised his hand to show the ring he wore, “and, Maker, I had to try. I couldn't just let that be it.” The hand wearing that ring moved, and he let his thumb gingerly stroke across Dorian's cheekbone where that little mark under his eye sat. “You're… too important for that to have been it.”

\----

He let out a sound that was half chuckle and half sigh before he leaned up and rested his forehead against Cullen’s, “I was waiting,” he murmured and smoothed his hands down the other man’s arms. Cullen was always so warm and Dorian had missed it. “I didn’t want to push too hard, I know you’re working through everything and-”

_\- Attention Passengers: the next train departing from Platform Three will arrive at approximately 5:49 -_

That damned announcement. Dorian paused and let out another laugh before he looked back up into those beautiful brown eyes that he’d fucking _dreamt_ about. “Do you…” Dorian began and a slow smile started to spread across his features, “would you consider getting a coffee? With me?”

\----

Cullen chuckled softly as he raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Fucking _of course_ he would consider it. A chance to start over… no, he really shouldn't get his hopes up, tearful reunion aside… but a chance to _talk_ , at least, to consider their options and eventually decide… that was all he wanted. 

That and a doubleshot mocha.

No, he couldn't get his hopes up, but that smile on Dorian's face made his heart thump and his knees weak, and hope rose a little on its own. Having Dorian here, right in front of him, smiling but knowing there was a heavy weight over both of them cast an uncertain shade over his mind. But maybe this was really where it would begin. Maybe coffee and a little conversation - small steps - maybe that would help start the task of unfolding all that hurt. Maybe it would help them heal.

“I'd like that very much,” he answered, “with you.”

\----

He nodded toward Cullen’s guitar, “Maybe pack that up and we can go?” Dorian offered, “We can walk til we find somewhere that looks like us.” The sight of Cullen doing that thing, the rubbing his neck like he did when he was nervous, made him smile and he shifted his weight a little as he studied Cullen for a long moment. It was still so... it made his brain feel like it was misfiring.

One hand lifted and he ruffled Cullen’s hair, “I like this,” he told him, “it’s different, but... it suits you.”

\----

“I'm glad you think so,” Cullen answered with a smile and turned to retrieve his case. As he got everything packed away safely, he continued, “I'm letting it grow out a bit, but I don't think I'll ever… it was time for a change.” Cullen rose and shouldered his guitar, facing Dorian and just… just smiling for a while. Whatever happened later, his heart was happy in this moment.

“Shall we?” he asked after a long pause, and as they started walking, he caught himself working his bottom lip with his teeth and casting his eyes to glance over at Dorian every few steps. Would it be ok to… hold Dorian's hand? Was he being too greedy? Should he just be happy to have the man walking with him? It felt strange, but then again, strange had become Cullen's normal lately. He had a feeling many things would be strange to him as he settled into… well, not exactly a new _life_ , he had the same job in the same city, but a new _him._ A new way of thinking, anyway.

Still. He could try. Outside of the station now and walking along the sidewalk, he took a little breath and, with the slightest movement of his hand, he hooked his pinky finger around Dorian's. Just that one finger, just that tiny connection. And waited to see if that much was ok. He hoped it would be.

\----

The feeling of Cullen’s finger hooking around one of his own was unexpected. The walking side by side was easy enough, though Dorian wasn’t so used to just... walking. Before, they would have held hands or Dorian would have wrapped his arm around one of Cullen’s, but to just walk beside each other wasn’t what Dorian was used to. Then again, he’d been walking alone for the last four months. Walking with someone was going to be strange regardless.

Dorian turned and looked up at Cullen. His expression was one of caution and nerves. They hadn’t been around each other ten minutes yet, and Dorian didn’t want to push. He didn’t want to put pressure on Cullen. He didn’t want to start with expectations that they couldn’t meet. Cullen, however, was the one who reached for _him_. He was the one who was there, the one who had asked to start over, and the one who sought his hand now. Ideally, that would mean he wasn’t the one being pushed, but Dorian knew better than anyone that it didn’t require a physical act to be pushed.

He squeezed the finger that was hooked around his own, though he didn’t quite make the move to take Cullen’s hand just yet. Truthfully, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Holding hands had led to kisses before, which had led to curling up in bed together to sleep. To think that could possibly on the table made Dorian’s heart pound to the point that his chest actually ached. It was partially out of excitement for the prospect, but also... well, out of fear. Fear that he’d be hurt again. Fear that he’d be left alone again. Dorian didn’t want to admit to it, but it was what it was.

“There’s a place not far from here,” Dorian offered after a moment, “if you’re interested?”

\----

Honestly, it didn’t matter where they went. Dorian hadn’t pulled his hand away and somehow, after everything Cullen had done and all the time apart, he was walking beside him. That was… more than Cullen had imagined before he left Mia’s. He wanted more - of course, he’d always want more - but now that the initial rush of emotion had evened out, Cullen reminded himself that he needed to take it slowly. It was easy to _want -_  to want to fall into old habits without thinking, to want the same closeness and warmth they once shared - but for now… that one point of contact was enough. Just one little touch to prove that Cullen cared, that he was there, that he wanted to be there.

More would come if it came. First, there would be talking.

“Sounds good,” Cullen answered as he watched Dorian’s face. He seemed… nervous or unsure or both under that confident veneer he always wore. Cullen couldn’t blame him, considering. He’d just popped up, hadn’t he? He’d pushed this on Dorian without really considering whether Dorian was ready. More than likely, the man’s evening plans didn’t include slogging through a painful past with his… ex? Is that what Cullen was now? Shitty as it was, there was no other word for what he was. He shook his head to clear it and continued, “I hope… I’m not interrupting anything you had going tonight. I know I just sort of… showed up.”

\----

“Maker, no,” he answered with a shake of his head and another squeeze of his hand, “you could never interrupt.” Dorian leaned in a bit, nudged Cullen’s arm with his own, and he offered a small smile, “maybe a bath and a glass of wine, but otherwise not anything important. I’d rather do this than anything else.”

Dorian took a breath then and squeezed that hand again, “And I’m _glad_ you showed up,” he told Cullen softly, “I told you to, remember? It’s... I’ve been waiting. _Hoping_ you would.”

\----

_He was waiting. He was hoping._

And that gave Cullen courage. He was trying to keep his expectations down, but it gave him courage that he'd survive the discussion he knew was looming. Whatever happened, Dorian had at least wanted to see him to work it out. One way or the other.

Cullen squeezed that one finger as they walked. “I’m just… I'm sorry it took me so long. I didn't mean to keep you waiting, I just… I wasn't sure. About how or when, I mean. I _was_ sure about… wanting to.”

\----

Dorian nodded, “I know, amatus,” and leaned over to press a kiss to Cullen’s shoulder as they walked, “I told you to come when you were ready. The last thing I wanted was to push something on you that you weren’t ready for.”  He nuzzled his nose in against the soft shirt the other man wore, and Dorian just breathed in the smell of slightly more flowery washing detergent than he was used to and the underlying smell that was so blessedly familiar. “I remember what it was like to just get thrown back into the real world and having to... you know, there’s people around who want to know _how you are_ and they want to _check in_ and _catch up_ and I didn’t want to do that. It sent me on a few bad rollercoaster days and I wanted you to figure out your own shit first before we sat down and hashed out ours together.”

He picked up his head then and pointed with his unoccupied hand to a small cafe nestled between a butcher and a flower shop, “We can sit in there,” Dorian offered, “they’ve got chocolate muffins that might actually change your life a little bit, and I think if we split one that might be about as much life change as we can handle for a while.”

\----

“I'm inclined to agree. There's been a lot of that lately,” Cullen smiled back, just a little sadness playing at his eyes. For all the good things that had come about - a relationship renewed with Mia and her kids, his job back, not to mention the growing sense of self worth he carried with him now - this sadness still stood. This, his relationship with Dorian, had been _changed_ , utterly and completely, the day he walked out. He knew that. It was… bittersweet looking at him now, knowing that. Knowing he'd broken whatever trust they'd had. Knowing he'd been the one to dig this ravine between them.

Nothing for it but to talk now. To try and bridge that ravine if they could and move on.

Cullen held the door open for Dorian and thought about what he'd said. He hadn't wanted to push Cullen. He could have. He could have come to Mia's and demanded answers and explanations. He could have shown up angry and hurt and raging… and Cullen would have understood… and probably would have had to call Anders after just to hold on. But Dorian didn't do that. He held back until Cullen was ready. Until they were ready. That said something, didn't it?

As they waited to place their orders, something else Dorian said struck him. “Wait, what was that? Ama… amatus? My, ah, Tevene is rusty.” Cullen asked. At least, he assumed it was Tevene. When Dorian had been angry, Cullen had heard all manner of Tevene, curses probably, tumbling from his mouth, and sometimes, the man muttered to himself in Tevene while deep in thought… but he'd never addressed Cullen in Tevene. That was new.

\----

There had perhaps been the hope to let that one slide in unnoticed. Clearly not. Dorian had been thinking of it, on and off, over the last however long. Having all that time to think, and not necessarily just about the bad things, had given Dorian a bit of a chance to contemplate not only his relationship with Cullen but with Rilienus and... well, his more casual relationships as well. There were a few nights, ones spent sometimes with wine and sometimes not, where Dorian just sat there and speculated on what about these men, these relationships, had made him so happy. Rilienus had been his first for so many things: real kiss, sex, love, a possible future, and heartbreak. Dorian had never known heartbreak like that before. He’d never known what it was like to hate both someone else and _himself_ all at the same time. It had been so encompassing, so hot and heavy and sharp in his guts. He’d been so ashamed of Rilienus and his actions and his own immaturity that he could hardly separate the feeling. In the end, though, he’d hated Rilienus for what he’d done. He hadn’t worried, hadn’t cared except for those damnable few hours, and just felt that heartbreak because it had hurt _him_. When he’d been angry at the situation with Cullen, it wasn’t because of what the other man had done to Dorian, but what the man had done to _himself_.

In all the years he’d known Rilienus, all those firsts, he’d never called him ‘amatus.’ Of course Dorian loved him, had loved him more than he’d ever loved anyone, but deep down he’d always sort of wondered when the other shoe would drop. They’d known theirs was a dangerous game to play, and when it finally happened, Dorian wasn’t probably as shocked as he thought he was at the time. Hindsight, of course. He’d just expected _more_. _Better_. He’d always thought that someone worthy of being called that name would be the kind of person to want to do and be _better_ both for Dorian and for himself. Rilienus had never been that person, no matter how much Dorian loved him.

The thought had hit him when he’d been taking a long soak two weeks ago, mind far away and contemplative. Cullen had made the choice to go and get help for himself, not because Dorian or Mia or anyone else asked him to, and at the time it had been all a bit much to think about. Now that he had the time to parse through it, anger and sadness included, Dorian felt like he could really think in terms of every step they’d taken. Cullen had wanted better for himself, he had since Dorian had met him, and had been actively trying to do _more_. Whether it was the trying to get enough money to move out, the job, their relationship, Cullen had always tried to be better. He’d obviously slipped up, with some moderately horrific consequences, but even in midst of all that pain and shame and everything else, he’d had the presence of mind to want to get help and _get better_. It wasn’t for Dorian’s sake, and Dorian understood that, but Dorian also knew that somewhere deep down it was partially for him, too. It was for him and Mia and Cullen’s family and his job and everything else.

He’d always thought, like when he heard those same stories like the one he’d told Cullen about the night he’d left, that the man he called ‘amatus’- _beloved, part of my heart,_ would be someone who could be strong enough to go on some fabled journey and come out of it unharmed. Not unscathed, since he’d always had a thing for rough and rugged types, but better on the other side of whatever test they were given because they _wanted_ to be. Those heroes were always rough and fair and thoughtful and kind and came back because they were in love. Dorian had always wanted someone who’d come back for him, sucker as he could be for the romantic stuff.

So here he was, in line at a cafe and trying to figure out a way to explain all that in a way that didn’t sound completely mad. Cullen had hurt him, made him feel angry and abandoned in a way he hadn’t really felt before, because his _heart_ was lonely. Now, standing beside him, Dorian didn’t feel that anymore. Sure, it was precarious and it was probably a really bad idea to just rush forward with arms open, but he knew what he felt and whenever he looked into those amber eyes he couldn’t help but _feel_ that word: amatus.

“Rusty, is it?” he asked with a coy smile, “here I thought the only bit you knew was what you heard from me when I was trying not to cut my finger off in the kitchen.” They were still standing there, Cullen’s pinky finger curled around Dorian’s index finger, and he moved so his hand wrapped around Cullen’s. “It’s an old word,” Dorian explained, “like, um, from that story I told you before. And it means, roughly translated, something like ‘beloved’ or… ’part of my heart.’ Most loved.”

He squeezed Cullen’s hand again and cast a quick look sideways from where he was looking up at the menu board, “It’s not quite your ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ kind of name. It’s... important. You’re not supposed to say it unless it’s a moment where you’re trying to show someone how much you care. They always said it in the stories just before the happy ending. You know, when the hero would show back up or the lady would escape from imprisonment and they needed a way to prove how much they still cared. Like that.”

\----

Scarred lips parted as amber eyes widened.

_Part of my heart_

He felt the words he wanted to say bubble up from his fluttering chest as he squeezed that hand in his and turned to face Dorian fully.

“Dorian, I lo…”

“Next!”

The world snapped back into focus. They were at a cafe. They were at a cafe, in the same space for the first time after months of being apart because Cullen self destructed. They were at a cafe to begin talking about the things they needed to talk about - things that would poke and needle and _hurt._ This wasn't the time for what he'd been about to say. 

_Slowly. Slowly._

He took a shaky breath and smiled before they went about the business of ordering and paying. The promised muffin was served up, and they stepped to the side to wait for their coffees.

Had Dorian just compared him to some hero in an old story? That's… that wasn't how he felt. He rather felt like some prodigal son who'd gone off into a life of sin and excess, only to return when it all fell apart and he realized that wasn't what he wanted, after all. He'd been trying to process, trying to deal with the guilt in a way that was constructive, but he'd only been out a month, and that was _hard to do_. Hard to do after years of programming himself to a default state of _I'm no good. It's probably my fault. I should be better._

He was better now, changed, and he was thankful for everything he had… but this?

_Beloved… Most loved… the hero…_

“Nothing I've done is heroic, Dorian,” he finally said, voice a hushed whisper so only Dorian could hear, “But I am trying. I have come back, and, Maker knows I still… _care_. Maybe more now than ever. I _want_ to deserve that… title or sentiment. I do.”

\----

“You don’t have to pull someone from a burning building to be a hero,” he pointed out as he turned to look up into that handsome face, “you’ve been through a lot of shit and you wanted to come out better on the other side of it. That’s pretty heroic to me.”

While they stood there and waited, Dorian leaned in a bit closer so he could feel that warmth that always seemed to come off of Cullen. He’d missed it. It was like his body knew Cullen’s was close, and that ache that had been in his chest for _so long_ started to ease. Something about the other man, anger and hurt included, still made Dorian feel _better_.

Their coffees were brought up not long after that, and Dorian pointed to a little table against the wall, “Let’s sit for a while,” he offered, “you can tell me what you’ve been up to since you got out. Have you talked to Garrett? He called a couple of times while you were gone to see if I’d heard anything. I think he was hoping you’d want to come back.”

\----

Dorian’s words settled into his heart and lessened that pang of guilt. This, all of this was testing Cullen's shaky resolve to _wait and see_ and _take it slow._ When Dorian moved closer, it was all he could do not to pull him in and wrap him up so they could just... be. Just be without all this shit Cullen had surrounded them with. He raised a hand to do just that when their drinks were served and attentions diverted to sitting and getting settled.

And now Dorian was across from him at a tiny table and Cullen looked into those bright grey eyes. They crinkled with an interested smile, but there was sadness or fear or both behind them. Not for the first time, Cullen wished he could take it all back, but most of him knew, bitter as it was, it was better this way. Hitting the bottom - he'd been there before, and had never looked to get help. This time had been different, though, and as he met Dorian's gaze, he knew why.

But they'd get to that. For now… starting light seemed the way to go.

“Actually, yes, I have,” Cullen chuckled and blew on his coffee to cool it, “We'd spoken a few times, but after my last, ah, session, I just decided to show up. He started me off light, but I've been gainfully employed again for… two weeks now, I think. It's been good. Really good. You know I love that job.”

He paused and took a small sip before continuing, “And it's been nice being at Mia's, though the kids have more energy than I could dream of. Still, I have an actual bed in a room with a door I can close. I call that progress.”

Another sip and he raised his eyes to meet Dorian's, “What about you? How have you been?”

It was a loaded question he knew, but he wanted to know.

\----

“See?” Dorian asked with a small smile, “moving forward... doing all of these good things.”

He sipped from his cup, listened to Cullen speak, and just watched him. The way he spoke, how confident he looked and even just the fact that he didn’t seem apologetic for the fact he was doing well was such a change. Dorian liked it. This new, confident Cullen was rather attractive. The fact that he seemed so comfortable in his skin, too, was really good.

That question, though... Dorian didn’t know how much to answer. This was all very superficial for the moment. They were catching up. This wasn’t them airing their grievances just yet. A cafe wasn’t quite the place for that. “Busy, actually,” he answered after a moment, “I, uh... I got a promotion at work, so I’ve had to go back and forth to Orlais a bit. Otherwise, um, it’s been... you know, okay. Not great, but okay.”

\----

“No, I know,” Cullen said softly. Of course he knew things hadn’t been great for Dorian. The letters told him that much, and even without them… he’d have known. It was obvious after the way things went. The way Dorian’s voice dropped when he spoke made Cullen’s chest ache and, even though he really did want to make sure Dorian was at least ok, he regretted asking. It was a strange place to be in - wanting to somehow heal a wound that he himself had caused. Wanting to never make the man across from him sad again, but knowing he’d have to if they were going to deal with what happened.

“But a promotion,” Cullen brightened a bit and smiled, “That’s amazing. I figured it was only a matter of time after all that work you’d put in. I’m really… well, I’m happy for you. And a bit proud, truth be told. You worked your ass off.” A thought occurred to him as he took another sip of coffee. “Orlais, huh? Are you working with that… Professor, ah… Ken.. Kenric?”

\----

 He nodded, “Not... well, no more than I was, but I’m the University Liaison now. So I work with him and a few others.” Dorian broke a piece of the muffin they’d gotten off and popped it into his mouth so he could chew thoughtfully, “It means I get to do more work with historical pieces instead of just appraising whatever gets brought in. You know me, I like the history better than just the art.”

Dorian took a breath then and rested his chin in one hand as he looked at Cullen, “You really do look good,” he commented, “less exhausted and worried. I’m glad. Are you keeping up with yoga at all, or did you give that up when you got to Mia’s?”

\----

Cullen smiled and broke off a piece of that muffin for himself. “Maker, that _is_ delicious,” he laughed with his hand over his mouth before he washed it down with some coffee. “But it's amazing, really, what a reasonable amount of sleep will do for you. I… I’ve kept up with a lot of things I picked up there, yoga being one of them, believe it or not,” Cullen answered and felt a little heat on his face as he continued, “I start my day with downward facing dog and try not to feel incredibly silly, but it really does help my, ah, old man back.”

He took another drink of coffee as he considered, “I kept up with the journalling, too. So far, anyway. It helps keep things… manageable. It’s a good outlet, you know, for things I'd otherwise… keep in.”

\----

“I would like it be known I’m keeping all the bad jokes in,” Dorian teased as he sipped from his coffee again, “but it’s good that you’re keeping up with everything. I remember my therapist now wanted me to pick up the journaling again for a while, but…” then shook his head.

He curled his hand around the coffee cup so he could feel the heat from it, then splayed his hand on the table so he could inspect his jewelry. Dorian didn’t really know what to say. Or do, really. The bit of distance between them felt so odd. “How’s staying there been?” Dorian asked, “that must be a bit of a pain to go back and forth, isn’t it? Mia’s is, what? Half an hour out?”

\----

The urge to reach across the table and take that hand in his own was strong, but Cullen didn't know if that would be too… forward of him now that they were there facing one another. Tevene terms of endearment aside, Dorian hadn't answered his original question - _can we try again_ \- and Cullen just… he didn't know. So he watched Dorian inspect his own hand and felt a panicky sense of _awkwardness_ descend. Things between them had run the gamut between breaking down and crying to laughter and love, but they'd never felt _awkward_. It wasn't surprising, but it made Cullen feel the pressure as Dorian asked about his commute of all things.

“It's definitely trying… and expensive, but worth it. To have something _like_ a home to go to at the end of the day. And the kids are pretty great. It's all very… domestic,” he commented with a little chuckle, “I make Gwen’s lunch most days, and Seth apparently thinks I'm some sort of jungle gym. Makes that yoga in the morning… interesting.”

\----

“So long as it’s good and you’re happy,” he agreed with a nod before he looked back down at his hand. Now what? What else were they supposed to talk about until they decided to actually _talk_? Dorian lifted his hand to smooth at his mustache, and he looked up to meet those beautiful honey colored eyes. They were so warm, somehow, and they made Dorian miss those late nights when Cullen would slip into bed with him and Dorian would wake to see Cullen smiling at him.

With a sigh he picked up his coffee again and took another drink. Okay. Enough of the bullshit smalltalk. Right? What was the point of it? “Alright,” Dorian began again, “cards on the table?” He looked back up to meet Cullen’s gaze, “I miss you. I miss _us_. And you’re here now and you don’t seem to hate me, so,” he paused as he gathered himself, “I want to talk. Not about the commute or yoga or whatever, but about what happened and... everything. So maybe we can actually kind of start over?”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).


	32. D.C. al Fine [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which difficult feelings are shared and a promise is made.

There it was. The elephant in the room. As nervous as it made him, Cullen was actually glad they were finally going to get down to it. He was sick of the looming dread that had settled over him. It had put his teeth on edge and made his stomach flip and shadowed their back and forth with uncomfortable awkwardness. At least now, they could put everything out there and see where that left them. It was frightening, but Cullen saw it as the last piece of his therapy, even though he'd left Haven behind two weeks ago. This was his first real test. This would be his hardest _session_ , but instead of Cole’s intense blue eyes, he was looking into Dorian's flashing grey pair.

Hesitantly, he moved a hand to cover one of Dorian’s. “I miss us, too. For all the… work and good things that have happened, it's been… off. It hasn't felt _right_. And there's nothing - _nothing_ \- under the sun that would make me hate you. Even if… even if we decide to go our separate ways after this, I will never, ever _hate_ you.”

He pulled his hand away then and settled into his seat with his hands clasped in front of him on the table, leaning over his elbows. “I mean, I don't want that. I want to try again, but I understand if… whatever I say isn't… enough.” He shrugged then and let a sigh of his own escape his lips. “Same rules as last time? I want you to get it out, say what you have to say and ask what you need to know. And I'll answer - completely and honestly. I promise that, whatever my word is worth now. You probably won't like some of my answers, but that's why we're doing this, right?”

\----

“Yes, well, you get to ask questions too,” Dorian pointed out, “since I’m sure you have a few. Or... have things you want to say.” He took another drink from his cup before he slowly reached out to take the hand Cullen had touched him with. Maker, he missed the feeling of those hands on him. They were always so warm and strong and _good_ , and Dorian just wanted to feel them again.

He looked up and met Cullen’s eyes again as he traced Cullen’s knuckles with his fingertips, “I don’t think we should do this here,” Dorian told him softly, “I don’t like the idea of anyone hearing our business. And... I think honesty is a lot easier when you’re comfortable.” With a small smile, he tangled their fingers together again and squeezed, “Come back to mine,” Dorian prompted, “we can order something in for dinner and just talk. If that’s alright?”

\----

The feeling of Dorian's hand wrapping around his own made Cullen's heart jump like it was the first time, and his gaze settled on them. Dark caramel against pale white and Cullen caught himself thinking, as he'd often done, that the contrast was… pretty. For all the bad, the two of them had built each other up a bit during the year they'd known one another, hadn't they? Their differences, that contrast… Cullen thought that maybe, once, they'd given the other what they lacked just by being themselves. Even if it all burned down at the end… what they'd had, it was _significant_.

And Dorian was reaching out to him now, across the divide Cullen had dug out. Maybe there was something there to rise from the ashes. Hopes he'd tried to keep down rose in his throat, and he smiled back as he looked into grey eyes that were looking at him.

“Ok,” he nodded and coughed to clear all that emotion out of his throat so he could speak. “I didn't want to do this here, either, but I would have… if that’s what you were more comfortable with. It's… I have a feeling it's going to be difficult enough. We might as well be comfortable.”

\----

Dorian got to his feet and held out his hand for Cullen to take. They could get a cab home, relax, and talk that way. It might have even felt like old times. That was something. _Talking_ was something. Talking was more than they’d done in months.

He got them out of the cafe and into a cab so they could get to his flat. It was warm in the back seat, nice, and Dorian leaned in a little bit more against Cullen’s side. He couldn’t help it. Maker, he’d missed that closeness so much. Nothing and no one made him feel as good as Cullen did. They weren’t even a couple anymore and Dorian felt more at ease and comfortable than he had with anyone else. 

“I missed you,” he murmured softly as he dropped his head so his lips touched Cullen’s shoulder.

Dorian didn’t say much after that, just took in the feeling of Cullen next to him as they rode and as they got up into his flat he gestured toward the couch. It still looked the same: cluttered with paper and work notes and wine glasses stacked by the sink. He hadn’t cleaned, hadn’t planned on anyone coming over, but he didn’t even care. Cullen knew where everything was, had practically lived there himself, and Dorian was content to let him get comfortable.

\----

The cab ride over was quiet, but, oddly enough, not uncomfortable. That awkwardness he'd felt back in the cafe had dissolved once Dorian broke the ice, and Cullen was happy to sit in silence and just take in how it felt to have Dorian so close again. It would get prickly later, he had no doubt of that, but for now Dorian was murmuring that he missed him in that smooth voice and pressing a light kiss to his shoulder like he so often did and Cullen felt like things would be ok. Like they'd be right again, somehow.

As soon as he entered Dorian's apartment, however, that feeling faded. The last time he was here… memories crowded in all at once, and Cullen had to grip the back of the couch to steady himself. All the awful things he'd done. All the terrible things he'd said. He'd said them here… right over there in front of the couch, he'd been screaming at the two people who loved him most. Hurting them on purpose to try and make them not care any more. His mind spooled up, ready to bombard him with guilt and shame. He felt the fingers of panic reaching out.

_Stop._

He closed his eyes and breathed in.

_1 2 3 4 5_

He breathed out.

_6 7 8 9 10_

Breathing and counting was one of the ways he'd learned to slow his mind down and focus. He hadn't expected to need that, not so soon in front of Dorian, but being here was more overwhelming than he'd thought. After a few repetitions, his heart and mind slowed, and he found he could open his eyes. The memories were still there, of course, but they didn't threaten to derail everything any more. He'd managed it. He could do this.

“Sorry,” he offered as he looked over at Dorian. “I had a moment. It's passed now.”

\----

He reached out a hand and rubbed it over Cullen’s back, “Don’t apologize,” Dorian told him and slid out of his shoes. That briefly haunted look was a bit of a concern, but it passed and Cullen looked... better. Not great, but better. The hand on Cullen’s back moved in a big, slow circle, and he gestured for them to sit, “make yourself at home. Did you want something to drink, or... just jump right in?”

\----

That warm hand on his back chased away the lingering panic that the breathing exercise didn't clear completely, and Cullen smiled. He was… fine now. As fine as he could be, anyway, and that said a lot for how far he'd come. Four or five months ago, something like that would have stayed with him for hours. The regret was still there, but so was he. There were no voices telling him to run or that he didn't deserve to be there. It was just Cullen and a need to try and make things better.

“Water, I think, if we're going to be talking for a while,” he replied as he stood up straight again and ran a hand through his hair. “Go ahead and sit. I can get it. Care for a glass?”

He made his way into the kitchen, tried not to notice the wine glasses, and failed. The number of them weighed heavy as he poured two glasses of water. _I did that._

\----

Dorian dropped himself onto the couch and settled against the arm so he could pull his feet up. The day had been long, and he was tired, but... he wanted this. He wanted to talk.One hand lifted to run through his hair and Dorian sighed to himself as he tried to force his body to relax. This was fine. It was okay. They would... talk. Just talk. No expectations, right?

While Cullen got their water, he looked over the couch and at Cullen’s back. The man still moved around like nothing had ever happened, and for a moment Dorian felt a flash of... something. Like maybe he should have moved everything in the kitchen around to make Cullen confused or to make it look like things had changed. They had, hadn’t they? Why should he get to come over, to the place he’d trashed and ran from then... well, the last place he was before he’d gone, and have it be the same with no consequences? Dorian spent months replaying everything over and over in his head from them cooking dinner and eating together to Cullen practically screaming in his face about what he’d gotten up to that week he was gone.

Why shouldn’t he have to fumble around for a cup, right?

“So,” Dorian began softly, “do you... remember anything from when you came back here? You weren’t really coherent until you left with Mia, I don’t think. For a while I don’t even think you knew where you were, or... that I was with you.”

\----

Cullen rounded the couch and sat the two glasses down as he settled into his seat farther away than instinct dictated. He'd wanted to sit closer, but the air around Dorian had shifted and things already felt sharper, despite that soft tone. Maybe it was better this way… a little space to let it out.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for whatever was to come. The first question then, and it wasn't as hard as it could have been, but it was only the first.

“Everything before I woke up is just bits and flashes. I was _there_ , at the… place I went to, I remember a moment of clarity, and all I wanted to do was go ho… come back here.” _I want to go home._ He didn't think he'd ever forget that, the urge was so strong. But maybe telling Dorian he'd thought of this place as such was too much. “I don't know how I made it here, I just remember pressing my head to the door. I knew it was you, but I didn't at the same time. I remember feeling warm, but sad. Someone was sad. I… I imagine that was you.”

Cullen's eyes dropped for a moment and his jaw worked as he waited for the guilt to recede a bit. “Then nothing until I woke up and there was just… pain. I don't know how else to describe it. Just fire and ice in my veins and sick everywhere. I don't… I don't remember much before Mia yelled at me. I know I was trying to get… something. And then I was scared and then I was angry.”

Cullen met Dorian's eyes then, working to keep speaking through a clenched throat. “I remember most everything after that. The things I said… and I've regretted them every minute of every day since then.”

\----

“You told me that if I loved you I’d give you some of my prescriptions,” Dorian told him, “you were yelling in the bathroom, right after I’d had the landlord replace the mirror you _punched_ the week before, and when you came out, you told me that it didn’t matter where you were or who I was because I wouldn’t give them to you. Because I’d hidden them before you woke up and you went looking.”

He rubbed his palm over his knee then, and looked down. Looking Cullen in the face was... well, he couldn’t. It was better, but there was still a lot of anger and hurt there. “I tried to help,” he murmured, “you wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t even listen until she yelled. And... I knew I couldn’t do it on my own, but the fact that you were about to _walk out again_ because I wouldn’t give you my anxiety medication until she told you to sit down just... if I hadn’t called her, what would have happened? You... you looked at me like I didn’t even _matter_.”

\----

The weight of that quiet anger and hurt pushed Cullen down and he felt heavy, so heavy. He didn’t remember any of this; there were only pops of emotion, no matter how hard he tried to recall what had happened before Mia called his name. He’d said Dorian wasn’t going to be happy with some of his answers, and Cullen had a feeling this was going to be one of many.

He cradled his head in his hands as he tried to find a way to answer for this. It killed him to know he’d made Dorian feel like he didn’t matter. Of course he mattered. He’d always matter. Even now, Cullen loved him so much his chest burned with this new knowledge of what he’d done. One more thing to add to the list, it seemed. One more hurt. One more scar that may never heal.

“Maker, I didn’t… I didn’t know I did that,” he began softly. “I don’t know why. I don’t... have an answer. Other than the pain driving me… making me someone else. I was… gone, just… nothing but _need_.” Cullen took a shaky breath before he continued. He wanted to be held accountable for what he’d done. He wanted to give Dorian the answers he needed, but how could he explain this when he’d been out of his mind with pain and withdrawal? _I wasn’t myself?_ That sounded like deflection, a way to shift blame. That’s not what he wanted to do. “And that’s not an excuse. I still did those things, I still made you feel that way, whether I remember it or not. I don’t know what would have happened. I don’t know why it was Mia that snapped me out of it.”

Cullen raised his head to look over at Dorian, and his heart cracked at the way the man wouldn’t look back. “But I do know that you _matter_. You matter, and it kills me to know that I made you feel like you didn’t matter when I was out of my mind. I can’t… there’s no way I can apologize enough, but I am sorry. So, so sorry.” His voice cracked and shook over those words. How could he make this better?

\----

“I don’t _blame_ you,” Dorian told him softly, “I know what it’s like to not know why you do something, remember? It just _happens_ and it is what it is. But I had to tell you that. I had to tell you that you looked me in the face and said ‘if you loved me you give me the pills’ and I felt like I was going to be sick. When you showed back up here, high as a kite and clinging on me in the shower and telling me not to cry, it made me feel sick. Then you were _gone,_ and I had to be here to deal with this _alone_ and I didn’t even do anything _wrong_.”

He lifted a hand to press his palm under his eyes. Dorian didn’t want to cry, but saying all these things made a fresh wave of that bitterness and _hurt_ wash over him. All those nights in bed, alone, and wondering whether he’d done something to push Cullen to leave and stick needles in his arm. When he’d been so scared that Cullen was just _gone_ for a week, and then _gone_ again for months.

“At least the last time you walked out on me there was a reason for it,” he murmured before he sniffled, “or, I guess, at least I caused the reason.” Dorian blinked a few times to keep the tears in place, though it wasn’t doing a very good job. “If you’d been mad at _me_ or if I’d done something wrong, then at least I could do something to help,” he went on, “and it wasn’t _fair_ that I didn’t do anything and you... said that and listened to her and not me, and _I_ was the one who got you in here and cleaned up, and you were _angry_ at me, but listened to her.”

Dorian shook his head and wrapped his arm around his leg so he could tug a bit at the hem of his pants. It was a childish stance, and he knew it. He _felt_ like a child, but after everything Dorian rather felt like he earned it.

“I don’t blame you for what happened or what you said or did,” he finished after a long moment, “and I meant it when I said I don’t love you any less, but I need you to know what it did to me. I spent weeks feeling guilty like I’d done something wrong because trying to accept that I had to be _alone_ even though I did all the right things made me want to scream.” Dorian looked up at Cullen again, wet and swollen grey eyes looking into brown ones. His voice was quiet and thick as he tried to hold back any more tears, because _Maker_ he was so tired of crying, and Dorian wiped at his face again.

“And I’m sure there was something,” he went on after another moment, “something I did that was another thing on top of a hundred other things, and that was what made you break down. Even if it wasn’t the cause, I was _part_ of it. Sometimes I don’t know if I feel guilty or angry or sad or... fucking betrayed. Sometimes it’s all of it. Sometimes it’s none of it, but…”

He shrugged, then went quiet for another long moment before he licked his lips and moved so he was lying across the couch with his head in Cullen’s lap. Dorian was exhausted: exhausted of thinking about it, feeling it, and _being_ it.

“Tell me what happened. What... set you off. I know the package and the pictures, but _why_.”

\----

Cullen sat silent while that wave of hurt rolled out of Dorian and over him, his heart cracking a little more with every single syllable, every tear. He was shaking with the effort it took to not completely break down in the face of all the damage he'd done. And he couldn't even explain _why_ , it just was. He'd been lost, out of control and out of his mind, and there was nothing he could offer to change the way Dorian felt, no more than he could turn back time.

And then Dorian's head was in his lap, and Cullen couldn't. He couldn't relax, he couldn't hold back the tears, and he still couldn't explain. He was helpless, and for the first time in a while, he had to actively suppress that feeling of worthlessness he'd worked so hard to get rid of.

_You're not worthless. You can't change the past. These are the consequences of your actions. He's hurt and he's angry, but he's still talking to you. Just breathe._

And for a while, that's all he did. He breathed and he worked to get his emotions under control as Dorian asked him why he left. And Cullen would tell him, he would. But first, he wanted Dorian to know why he _came back._

“I’ll do my best to answer that,” he began, and his voice came out like a croak. He coughed and continued, his tone low and shaking, “But first, I want to tell you something. When I was there… when I was at my lowest and I hated myself so much for what I'd done and kept doing… there was a moment I remember. The thing that pulled me out of it and made me want to just fucking _stop_. I had a thought, and I'll never forget it.”

Cullen wiped his eyes and ran his hands over his face. He knew this was going to be hard, on some intellectual level, he understood that. Now he understood - he had no idea how much this was going to hurt. None at all. Still, this was what he wanted… what he still wanted.

“I had a thought. ‘I want to go home.’ Just that one thought, and do you know what I saw in my head when that idea struck me? It wasn't Mia’s or my parents’ or even the home I had with Ella before… It was you. It was you I thought of when I imagined home, and, Maker, the want for you was more than what I'd put in my veins. Whatever made me leave, it was you that brought me back. The things I did and said after… they were out of pain and withdrawal… but it was you I wanted. You were the only thing that mattered in that one moment I was myself, and it was strong enough to get me here in the state I was in. You.”

\-----

That was actually surprising to hear. Good, in a way, too. So Cullen had thought of him at some point, that was heartening. That said, clearly the thought of him wasn’t enough to keep him from _going_ in the first place, but he’d take being what brought him out of it. That was better than nothing, Dorian supposed.

He sat up a little bit, but didn’t move away. Dorian stayed half sitting up over Cullen’s lap and rested a hand on Cullen’s leg, “You promised you’d talk to me,” Dorian told him, “we sat in my bed and you promised you’d tell me when things got bad. I’m... I’m glad that thinking of me woke you up and got you out of there, I really am. Of anything else, I’m actually really glad to be the thing you thought about to be where you’re comfortable, but I _trusted_ you. I’ve never _trusted_ anyone. So, yes, I’m glad that you thought about me and wanted to be here more than there after _six days_ , but that doesn’t really help me when I know that you wouldn’t even talk to me to not go in the first place.”

Dorian took one of Cullen’s hands in his and pulled it close so he he was holding it against his chest. He knew Cullen would be able to feel the thudding of his heart that way, and Dorian wanted him to. He wanted Cullen to feel what it did to his pulse. Of course Dorian didn’t _blame_ him, things really did just happen and they were awful, but he needed to know that Dorian had been left behind.

“You came back, but you weren’t you anymore,” he went on and squeezed that hand more tightly, “you were high and then you were sick and angry and I haven’t gotten to see _my_ Cullen in almost half a year. I’m so glad you came here, I’m more glad of that than anything else so I could at least do something to help, but the you in your head that brought you back here? I haven’t gotten to see that until now and it makes me so... fucking _angry_ that he was there and I couldn’t _reach_ him, okay?”

That... felt good to get out. A weight that had been sitting on his chest lifted a little. Telling his therapist and Felix these things was all well and good, sure, but knowing that Cullen knew now was actually what made that hurt and anger... not leave him, but it did start to scab over. He’d pushed it out of his head, which had all come rushing back now, and he’d _needed_ to say it. Maybe it wasn’t fair to lay it all on Cullen like that, since the man looked positively _stricken_ to hear it, but Dorian had needed to get it out. It felt like poison leaving his blood.

“Look,” he went on and sat up a little further so he could look directly into Cullen’s face, “all that aside, hm? That’s not, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, and I don’t mean to hurt you by saying it. I know it’s easier said than done, but I don’t _want_ you to feel bad for it. That’s not what that was for.”

The hand holding Cullen’s lifted and Dorian kissed the back of Cullen’s hand, “I don’t really care about answers to anything else, but I need you to answer something for me. And... I just need a yes or no, and I don’t want you to think too hard about it, hard as it is. Okay?”

He waited for a long moment, watched Cullen’s haunted face, then took a breath as Cullen nodded slowly.

“Do you promise to talk to me if it gets bad again? I know you’ve got Cole and actual professionals now, but will you at least try to talk to me if you feel yourself slipping again?”

\----

More and more. It kept coming and all Cullen could do was try to brace himself against it, to hold on and fight the urge to disappear into himself and hide. Nothing he'd said had turned the tide. He wasn't sure there was anything he could say to change this. In his mind, he saw that divide between them growing, and a dull knowledge settled in that there wasn't a way to cross it, after all. Shame and guilt spiked, and it was a struggle to stay on top. It was a struggle to remain present, regardless of how much he'd wanted to.

_You can't control their feelings_

Something Cole said in one of his sessions came to mind, and it helped to ground him. This wasn't… it wasn't anything he could _ever_ fix _…_ but that was ok. These were Dorian's feelings, honest and bare and vulnerable. And even though that river of hurt flowed out of him, he was still there, still making contact with Cullen - touching him though the words stung. When Dorian raised Cullen’s hand to cover his heart, Cullen's own crumbled at the speed with which it was racing.

_I left him alone. I left him alone, and this is how he felt about it._

He could barely stand it, but he had to. He had to give Dorian a chance to tell him all this. That's what he set out to do, and he'd see it done.

 And then Dorian's tone shifted and he asked his question.

_Do you promise?_

“Yes,” he answered without a moment's hesitation as tears rolled down his face. “I promise. I won't hide any more.”

He was making that promise to Dorian as much as he was making it to himself. No more running. No more hiding inside himself. He was done with that.

\----

Dorian reached out and cupped Cullen’s cheek to pull him in closer. Maker, Dorian hated making Cullen feel bad. The sadness on the other man’s face was enough to make him wonder if he’d gone too far, been too cruel, but he hadn’t checked out like he used to do. Dorian could remember Cullen retreating inside himself and hardly being present for these kinds of talks. Despite the tears, Dorian knew Cullen was listening. That’s all that mattered for him.

“Then that’s all I really care about now,” he told Cullen softly as he brushed away those tears off his cheeks, “there’s going to be a lot of things, a lot that maybe we don’t want to hear, but so long as you promise that much I’ll stay with it. “

He leaned in and kissed Cullen’s forehead, “I just want to be the person you want to talk to when you start feeling bad,” Dorian told him honestly, “because you trust me and because you love me. Or because you want to talk to me. I know I can’t solve everything, and I still want you to call the people who can help when I can’t, but just so I know if something’s going on. That’s all I want.”

\----

The whole time Dorian spoke, Cullen had refrained from reaching out to him. There had been a period of time earlier where touching, making contact had seemed ok - the relieved reunion at the station and light conversation in the cafe - but that period had passed when the real talking began. It’s why Cullen had sat farther away than maybe he wanted. It's why, even when Dorian had moved to rest his head on Cullen's lap, he held back. He hadn't dared to touch him yet for fear that he'd somehow make it _worse._ Cullen had been the one in the wrong - the one doing all this hurting, whether he was in his right mind or not, and he wanted Dorian to get it out and take the lead.

But with that promise, with that achingly gentle kiss to his forehead in the aftermath of all that acid, Cullen couldn't stand it any more. Slowly, hesitantly, he raised a shaking hand to rest at the base of Dorian's neck, thumb stroking the line of the man's jaw as he did, and Maker, it was like the first time he'd reached out for Dorian for how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. He loved this man. He would always love this man. _Never again_ , he promised himself, _I will never hurt him like this again._

“I will. From here on, I will,” Cullen breathed, “and I do. I trust you to know these things about me and not… think less of me or leave.”

He paused a moment and realized that was the heart of the question Dorian had asked before: _why?_

“And I thought… I thought I meant it before. When I made that promise, I genuinely thought I could do it. But I wasn't... equipped to make that promise then. I just didn't know it. At the time, before I left, I thought I was fine, but looking back… there were signs, so many signs that what happened would happen. I didn't recognize them then because I couldn't, not like I can _now._ I said I was ok. I acted ok. I wasn't. All you had to go on was my word, but I was lying. To you and also to myself. And I believed it.”

He paused then to watch Dorian. He didn't want to upset the man further, but he'd asked why, and though he said all he cared about was that promise, he deserved to know. He should know it wasn't his fault. Cullen knew what living with guilt was like, knew it well, and didn't wish it on anyone, least of all someone he loved so damn much.

“That package came, and it shook me up. I was at least honest with you about that. I just didn't know how deeply until… well, I had a nightmare that night, remember? That was the beginning. It was… awful. The worst one I've ever had, and it made something in me break. I'd pushed so much down, you see. I said I was fine, but I really just pushed everything down and covered it up and let it fester. That nightmare cracked that cover. The package destroyed it.”

Cullen sighed. Looking back from where he was now, the reason he broke seemed silly, inconsequential - a nightmare and a quote and some pictures. He hoped he could make Dorian see somehow that it was more than that.

“Everything that had gone so wrong with my life since Ella died, everything, it all just came pouring out. All that time, I'd been chasing a ghost, trying to be what I was before and thinking myself weak and worthless for not being able to. I opened that package, and suddenly, I knew I _never_ _would_ _be_. The… snap… it was almost instant. I felt like everything I'd worked for, everything I was… it was all some joke.”

He shuddered and his breathing hitched in fits and starts as memories of that terrible morning when he'd fully lost himself in Dorian's bathroom flashed before his eyes. Emotions were almost all he could recall: the feeling of being so empty and lost, then angry, then miserable, and then _nothing_.

“Seeing myself, as I once was, and that quote… Maker, that quote. I know to you, it probably didn't mean anything, but that was…. It was like Ella’s personal philosophy. It was her call, and mine, to always _try_. To be better. And I saw all that, and I knew - I _knew_ \- it was impossible. I'd never be better. I'd never be… worthy. So I thought it would be better to be _nothing._ But by then, it wasn't really me. It was the fear. It was the fear moving me and making me say things to make you leave so I could be nothing.”

Cullen dropped his head. He couldn't meet Dorian's eyes - he'd done it on purpose, broken their trust - and he couldn't look the man in the eyes knowing that.

“So that's… as close an answer as I can give as to _why_. It seems so… ridiculous now. People grow. People change. It's obvious, but I couldn't see it. I spent so many sessions with Cole and in group just to understand that I _am_ who I'm meant to be, fuck ups and all, and _that's ok_. It took a long time to understand that I'm not completely without worth because of past mistakes. Even longer to believe it. If I'm honest, I struggle with it now - hearing the ways I've hurt you, I feel like I don't even deserve this chance to explain it to you. And I know that’s not even the full list.”

Cullen’s voice shook with that admission. He’d done so much damage, and they hadn’t even touched on the awful things he’d said after Mia snapped him out of it. They hadn’t even broached the subject of… what he’d done to get that last dose. He’d deal with that pain when it came. For now, he had more to say.

“The whole time before, I felt like I had to hide my problems and fears from you or you'd… go. You’d leave me, and I thought you’d have been justified in doing so because I was so… _beneath you._ But that wasn't fair. I didn't respect myself enough to believe you when you said you wanted _me_ \- even if I thought I did, I didn't - which means I also didn't respect your word. One of the lessons I learned was that I have to respect myself, trust _myself_ , before I can extend that respect and trust to others. It was… a costly lesson.”

He took a breath. He'd been talking for a while, and he hoped Dorian had followed. It was a lot, he knew, but if he was going to be completely honest, he had to get all this out.

“So what happened - while, yes, I internalized and agonized silently over the things that had happened between us on top of everything else I thought was wrong with me - that wasn't _at all_ your fault. It was all in how I chose to deal with… or not deal with… _my own_ problems. I hope… I hope you can understand that. And I hope you can trust my word - I want to somehow earn your trust again. I was broken and fucked up beyond belief, but please believe me when I say that I loved you as best as I possibly could... and I still do. Nothing will change that.”

\----

It was a lot to take in. A lot. To hear so much about self loathing and fear and guilt and pain just made Dorian’s chest ache. He hurt to hear that _his_ Cullen, the man he loved so much, was in so much pain. He leaned in again and pressed his lips to the top of Cullen’s head. Both hands lifted and he curled his hands around the back of the other man’s neck.

He didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that he wanted to be close, wanted Cullen to feel that closeness, and he just wanted to _be there_. He wanted to be there and be the person Cullen could talk to when he needed and the person that he trusted. All those things, all the terrible thoughts for so long, it was heartbreaking. Dorian had been through some shit, some awful shit, but this was…

Maker, they were a pair.

“We’ll get there,” Dorian told him softly, “okay? We will.”

He buried his face in that soft hair, took in how it smelled and felt against his face, “I’m so sorry things were so bad for so long,” he went on as he brushed his fingers through the hair at Cullen’s nape, “I’m so, so sorry.”

\----

Drained. Exhausted. Sad, but somehow at peace. Cullen was all of those things in that moment as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to take comfort in the feeling of fingers in his hair and Dorian so close. It may have seemed odd, considering, but Cullen had missed this - Dorian, those gentle little touches, the way Cullen's heart beat faster when he was near, the way warmth washed over him and he felt safe wrapped in his arms. All of that, he'd missed all of that, so he just breathed and moved, slowly, to wind his arms around Dorian and pull him closer. After everything Dorian told him and everything he'd shared of himself, he just wanted to hold and be held.

“Don't be,” Cullen breathed and let a content little smile play at the corners of his mouth, “It's better now. Much better. And I think… I hope this means… _we_ can be better, too?” Cullen swallowed before adding in a thick voice, “A second chance?”

A part of him worried that question was too soon after they'd both put so much out there. Maybe Dorian was too… raw, but Cullen had already said goodbye to him once. He never wanted to do that again.

\----

A soft sound that might have been half sob and half laugh escaped Dorian then and he wound his arms back around Cullen’s shoulders to pull him in closer, “Maker, _yes_ ,” he breathed into Cullen’s ear.

Tears pricked at his eyes again and he just held Cullen for a long moment. He’d missed that feeling of happiness and contentment of just having Cullen in his arms and pressed against his chest. The man was asking him for a second chance, which Dorian would have given him without a second thought. They’d hurt each other, but Dorian knew they’d be... okay. Eventually. It would take a lot, a lot more talking, but they’d get there. He knew they would.

“Stay?” Dorian asked into the other man’s neck, “Please? For dinner, or... Maker knows, I think there’s still some of your clothes here if you, um... if you wanted to stay longer. I don’t want you to go.”

\----

Something clicked then, and suddenly that empty place in Cullen's heart where Dorian lived filled again and it was almost overwhelming. Amber eyes watered again, but this time, it wasn't out of sorrow or regret; this time his throat clenched and his eyes grew hot out of happiness. That divide was bridged... and maybe it was shaky now, maybe it would be hard work to make it strong, but Cullen knew they could do it. He _trusted_ that they could. Together.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Dorian, breathing deeply as he pressed a kiss to the warm caramel skin of his neck. “Of course,” he replied, voice low and thick with emotion, “I don't want to go, either. Maker, I've missed this. You. Us. Everything.”

\----

Those lips on his neck made goosebumps pop up over his skin, and Dorian’s fingers tightened in Cullen’s hair. “You should tell Mia you’re staying,” he murmured, “so she doesn’t worry. Just in case it gets late…” He smiled and nuzzled his face in that soft hair as he pressed kisses where he could. “I’ll order us something to eat, and we can…”

His hands smoothed down Cullen’s back and he hooked his fingers under the soft shirt so he could feel warm, pale skin, “make up for lost time?” Dorian asked as he lowered his chin to look into Cullen’s eyes, “please?”

\----

Just that brush of fingertips on his bare back sent a little shiver through him, and the scarred half of Cullen’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “There's… a lot to make up for. It could take some time…”

Maker, this evening had been a rollercoaster, and Cullen couldn't help but think of the first night he spent with Dorian after one of his shows, back when they were almost perfect strangers. That night had been a rollercoaster, too, full of ups and downs and doubt and _should I?_ That was the night all this really started. It seemed fitting that the night this started over should be much the same. The only difference, aside from Cullen's newfound strength and growing confidence, was that _yes, yes I should._

\----

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Cullen’s lips, “I’ve got time,” Dorian murmured, and smiled a little, “call Mia, hm? I can... order dinner. Or not.” Dorian kissed him again, something not too deep, and he pressed his palms against Cullen’s back.

\----

Dorian's lips were on his and it was everything Cullen remembered and more. Months. It had been long, lonely months since he'd last felt the tickle of Dorian's mustache against his nose and the warmth he knew he could lose himself in. His hands raised to bury themselves in that dark silky hair they'd been deprived of touching for so long and he could feel an undercurrent of need moving slowly but gaining momentum beneath the sweetness of just… kissing.

When they parted, Cullen exhaled slowly to gain a little focus. Maker, the effect this man had on him was like nothing else. “I should at least text,” he agreed, “But, ah… aren't there places around that deliver… later?”

\----

His eyes opened slowly and Dorian smiled a bit before he snuggled in closer. “Later’s good,” he answered as he resettled himself so he was laying with his head on Cullen’s chest. The kisses were wonderful, warm and soft and full of promise, but right now he just wanted that closeness. He wanted to feel Cullen’s body up against his own so he could hear the other man’s heart beating.

Both his arms wound around Cullen’s middle and Dorian squeezed him tightly. It wasn’t sexual, not really, but more just the need of having him be there and real and everything he needed. “I just want to stay like this for a little while,” Dorian told him.

He pressed little nuzzly kisses over Cullen’s heart, dug his fingers in against the bulk of him, and Dorian just breathed in the fact that they were there. Cullen was staying. He wasn’t going anywhere, and Dorian didn’t have to be alone anymore. He’d missed the little intimacies, the way Cullen touched his hair and the way he looked at Dorian like there wasn’t another person in the whole world, and just how cared for he felt even when they were just in a room together.

“Do you think you could just... maybe, sing a little for me?” Dorian asked, “doesn’t have to be anything big, but I want to hear you.”

\----

Cullen settled himself down into that comfortable warmth they both shared now that they’d let some of the hurt and poison out. There was work - hard work - ahead, Cullen knew… but now he also knew that Dorian would be there with him, walking side-by-side, as they moved through it together. They’d promised each other that much - that neither of them ever had to feel alone or cold or scared, because the other would be there: to listen, to support, to be honest, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

As far as Cullen was concerned now, that promise was sacred. It was the first brick laid in the foundation of whatever they'd build together over the remains of what they'd been before. A new start, but one that didn't forget where they'd come from. All the pain, all the tears, the laughter and the love, all of it was still there… and Cullen wouldn't have it any other way. Everything they'd been, hard as it was, led to this one warm, perfect moment, curled up together on the couch.

He pressed a kiss into dark, soft waves of hair as he chuckled at Dorian's request. Cullen ran his hand slowly up and down Dorian's back as he thought of what he could sing. Lying on a couch was hardly the best position for a great performance, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that Dorian asked. What mattered was that they were there, despite all the odds. Despite how _bad_ their timing had been…

And there it was. He knew. Cullen coughed, took a breath, and began to sing.

 _Caught in the middle but you came my way_  
_Locked in a prison of my own mistakes_  
_Dumbstruck by a riddle but you came to solve it_  
_With your style and grace_  
  
_And I don't know where I went wrong_  
_But I feel like moving on_  
  
_And I saw your face through the night_  
_We were in the wrong place_  
_But it was perfect timing_  
_In this dark room, you led me to the light_  
_We were in the wrong place_  
_But it was perfect timing_

Maybe their timing before had been bad, but now? Now they were _starting over_. It wouldn't be easy, and that was ok. That was… well, that was _perfect_.

#  _D.C. al Fine_

* * *

 

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last time in the main story... this is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen).
> 
> \---
> 
> And thus concludes the main story we outlined 4 months ago when all this began. BIG HUGS to everyone who followed along with us - everyone who cried, got angry, laughed, all of that - thank you! This whole thing has been... intense and emotional... but all your comments and kudos and stories you've shared with us, both here and on tumblr, have been so very encouraging. 
> 
> This is the story we wanted to tell, but we've grown so attached to these two that you can expect a few follow ups, and soon. <3
> 
> The song referenced is "Perfect Timing" by Hurts. It was one of the very first ones Sally found for them, and I was glad to be able to use it to end it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvKbmquEm-E

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies! Welcome to our first collaborative effort! We hope you enjoy!
> 
> You can always find us on tumblr!: @sallyamongpoison and @mistysinkat


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